A Thousand Constellations
by Sectumsempra11
Summary: Narcissa Black is a wildly creative girl fond of losing herself in nature. Lucius Malfoy is quiet and stubborn, desperate to retain his freedom and carve out his own identity. Together, they could remake the world. AU for timelines and some OC characters for world building.
1. 1

" **Some girls are full of heartache and poetry**

 **and those are the kind of girls**

 **who try to save wolves**

 **instead of running away from them.** "

Nikita Gill

 **SUMMER**

Light shimmered across a pool of water at the mouth of a widened creek in a dense forest. The water gurgled and splashed down jutting moss covered rocks into the shallow pool a few feet below. Her hair flowed in every direction from her scalp, pale and dancing. Her face was just below the surface of the water, eyes clenched shut. She was pretending to be dead, her body a vessel she didn't have to carry any longer. The only thing left was her spirit, floating in the cool water. She unrolled all the tension from her muscles, letting her hands float. If nothing existed, then she didn't have to be _something_. A proper Pureblood, a wife, a mother. The water kept her safe from the world that threatened to close in on her.

But the water did not freeze her in place, it did not stop time. She heard a sudden splash from a rock and came up for air. She broke the surface and sat up. Her free-flowing hair melted into a white blond curtain down her back. Her eldest sister stood before her with her arms crossed.

"You're half an hour from mother dissolving into hysterics," she announced flatly.

Bellatrix Black was the eldest of her siblings and perhaps the most beautiful. She was nearly as tall as a man and stood with the ferocity of a queen, back straight, unruly mess of curls flowing off her shoulders. Her voice was monotone, husky, and powerful. When she laughed, she echoed across even the loudest of rooms. No one ever looked at Bellatrix and presumed there was an ounce of fear or weakness in her.

"Did you tell her I was just washing up?" she asked sweetly.

She rolled her eyes. "Narcissa, you know floating all day in a creek isn't her idea of hygiene."

"Of course not," she replied tersely, arranging her lips into a straight, firm line to imitate her mother, "You can _certainly_ swim in dirty water all day if you intend to attend the Malfoy Masquerade ball smelling like a _swamp_!"

Bellatrix's lips twitched into a smirk. Her younger sister had a talent for impressions, particularly for Druella Black, their rigidly proper mother.

Druella Black was given the most unfortunate task of raising three girls in a wealthy Pureblood society that was overwhelmingly female for their generation. Meaning the prospects for securing a husband were abysmally low unless willing to sacrifice pedigree and title for a lower-class husband, who wouldn't provide the same amount of wealth. But that, in Druella's eyes, was unacceptable for her children.

"Come now, Cissy," Bellatrix ordered, "before they send out Maxie."

Maxie was considered the family dog. Part wolf and shepherd, she was grey and white and altogether much too intelligent for a pet. But she had a keen interest toward Narcissa, and did not stray from her side often. It was Maxie that was sent to fetch Narcissa when she had wandered too far into the forest again.

She conceded to this arrangement, and pulled her naked body from the creek. Her body was underdeveloped still, at fourteen, her breasts small, hardly noticeable without a corset. Her body was unshapely and thin. Her hips had not taken on curves. Her mother, of course, manufactured a silhouette with dressing gowns and corsets for public outings. She pulled her bra and underwear on, and then pulled on the silk shorts her mother allowed her to wear for exercise or lounging and her exercising blouse. These were Muggle items, forbidden anywhere off the property, lest someone start rumors that Purebloods used such things. But it was common knowledge that when the Malfoys came to England, they lived with and very much alike Muggles. The traditions had not strayed terribly far still; she felt lower-class families certainly appeared more magical than hers.

She followed her sister down the path back to the house. "Path" was an operative word, because they had not yet travelled through the same spot enough to wear away the grass. Instead, this was mapped by memory. They knew this forest as well as they knew the thoughts in their head.

"Uncle Orion sent a Howler this morning," Bellatrix announced, pulling a stalk from a plant as she walked. She started breaking off the leaves in pieces. "They're still arguing over the estate."

"A one-hundred-year war, then," Narcissa replied, rolling her eyes. "They cannot lay claim to our estate just because they had boys."

Orion and Walburga Black were their aunt and uncle on their father's side, and since the birth of Narcissa, when it seemed clear that their family would only produce girls, they petitioned for their estate, arguing that the largest family estate should have gone to them, because Walburga gave Orion two sons, Sirius and Regulus. Otherwise, the estate would dissolve into the property of Bellatrix's future husband and would not stay part of the Black estate. It had been a tumultuous argument for as long as Narcissa could remember, once coming to blows between her father and uncle at the dinner table during the holidays.

"A simple solution would be to just marry Andromeda to Sirius," Bellatrix said, shrugging her shoulders, "Andy gets to keep her beloved last name, Sirius gets the estate."

"That's disgusting," Narcissa replied, wrinkling her nose.

"We're _all_ related," her sister argued, "Walburga and Orion are cousins or something. Their grandfathers were brothers. The whole society is intertwined like that."

She knew that, and yet she shivered. What a strange practice. She knew the odds of her marrying someone not distantly related to her was small, but she preferred to not think about it. They came out of the woods and onto the south lawn. They walked up the sloping lawn, sweating from the hot summer air, which was more apparent without the shade of the trees. The Black estate owned roughly 150 acres of countryside, with the manor positioned in the center of a forest clearing. By contrast, Orion and Walburga Black owned a single city manor in London with half an acre. Walburga was older than her brother, Cygnus, but a woman—the property rights had fallen to Narcissa's father after his brother was eradicated from the family.

They stepped onto the veranda and opened the glass doors to one of the main lounges. Her father was there, staring into the fireplace.

"Your _sons_ are one notch above being Mudbloods, you son of a bitch, so don't you _dare_ demand anything from me!" Cygnus said, "Your _wife_ married into your side of the family and inherited _your_ estate. Your boys don't have rights to mine!"

"Your harlot daughter Bellatrix won't have control over it," Orion argued, "Her husband will! The Black estate will be lost forever!"

"Harlot daughter?" Narcissa whispered excitedly to her elder sister.

She shrugged. "If the slipper fits."

They exchanged smiles, and dipped out into the hall so that their father wouldn't notice them, but they held their faces against the door, still propped open. Narcissa heard Maxie trotting down the hallway, panting.

"Shh, no, Max, quiet!" she whispered fiercely.

The dog yipped excitedly.

Druella Black came down the stairs into the hallway. "Excellent job, Maxine. You've once again proven your worth." She trained her steely eyes onto her daughters. "Other people in this household, however…"

Bellatrix and Narcissa looked at one another and then shrugged.

"The dog dragged in one of our owls by the neck last fall," Bellatrix said, "at least my victims don't get any blood on the floor."

"How courteous of them," Druella retorted, her nostrils flaring. "Narcissa, you look like you've been swimming in a swamp again. Start your bath, we've a great deal of work to do. Bellatrix, you've the same instructions."

When they were children, preparing for events like this one, the three shared baths with one another. It seemed like such an incredibly long time ago. Now she climbed the stairs to the bathroom next to her bedroom. House elves had already prepared the overlarge tub full of perfumes and bubbles. She took her clothes off and stepped into the bath, which was automatically set to her preferred temperature. She submerged her body in the water, but it didn't have the same freeing affect that the creek did.

She thought perhaps her mother used some sort of enhancing potions in their baths to make them more beguiling. Her skin was softer. When she stood up and wrapped a towel around herself and saw her reflection in the mirror, her eyes were striking against her pale skin, a haunting, crisp blue. Her lips and cheeks took on a deeper hue than they would by ordinarily. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light; she couldn't be sure. But she would never underestimate her mother's ambition.

She opened the door. Her mother was barking orders at Andromeda and Bellatrix from the hallway. She turned her head when she heard the door open. "Finally. Narcissa Black, always late," she tutted, and waved her wand at her. Her hair turned from dripping wet down her back to solidly dry and straight down her back. She siphoned the water into a potted plant near her. She grimaced. She hated when her mother did this.

Maxie was lying on her bed when she walked into her bedroom. Narcissa's room was unquestionably hers; she had various plants in the window sills. Tendrils of ivy cascaded down from a shelf on the wall. Her colors were mostly neutral, white and beige with bright splashes of color. She had a wide built in bookshelf along one wall nearly filled. A large oil painting took up half the wall opposite of her large canopy bed. It was an image of ocean waves, which were magicked to sway and spray ocean foam continuously. She watched it sometimes when she could not sleep; it always calmed her mind and lulled her to sleep.

Her closet was nearly the same size as her bedroom, complete with wall to ceiling shelving and racks for clothing. Three mirrors were placed in between some of the shelves so that she could look at herself from different angles. She dropped the towel into the laundry basket in the corner and searched through her closet for an appropriate dress.

Druella appeared. "Corset. Now." She waved her wand and a drawer opened. A neatly folded corset soared through the air and hovered in front of Narcissa, who sighed. She also hated when her mother rushed her.

Her mother fitted her in the corset and then ripped at the strings, pulling them so tight that she could hardly breathe. She gasped. Some years ago, Bellatrix had won the argument against wearing corsets and dressing gowns casually, but main events were still very much in Druella's control. They looked pristine, like dolls, when she was done with them. Truly, the Black sisters were something to marvel over when they were dressed up. Her body took on another shape entirely, her bust increasing in size. Her hips curved delicately in dresses. It was, in every sense of the word possible, magical.

The Malfoy manor could best be described as haunted looking, set several miles away from the road and gated with high stone walls and iron pikes jutting at the top. The manor was grey mortar, made many centuries ago, with long pained gothic windows. It was rumored to have sixteen bedrooms and sixteen bathrooms. She'd heard the entirety of the fourth floor was a library.

A long time ago, the Malfoys were lavishly social, hosting soirees every weekend, providing the most dazzling entertainment the society had ever witnessed. But years ago, before Narcissa was born, Abraxas Malfoy abruptly shut society out without warning or explanation, and now hosted only two events a year: the annual summer ball to celebrate the birth of his son, Lucius Malfoy, and the Halloween Masquerade. Anyone with an ounce of sense refused to plan any galas near these two dates—doing so was social suicide, because while the Malfoys had stopped hosting so many events, they never shied from an explosive party. Reporters from the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch's Weekly_ crowded as closely to the property line that they could. Some were privileged to join the event and write about it later, provided they were of noble blood and did not take photographs or have quick quills.

It was considered improper to apparate to any event, a long-held rule often enforced my magical barriers, but it was also distasteful to be seen driving a Muggle car, though no one in her society used them, as far as she knew. Her family, like everyone else, arrived by horse and carriage baring their family crest on either side.

The event began at 7:00 pm, but her family always arrived a fashionable fifteen minutes late. Families took care not to impede upon this time and come in after The Black family, simply because they would be overshadowed. For as long as Narcissa could remember, 7:15 had always been their arrival time. They were never a single minute later than that. She thought that her mother might go to the lengths to change the fabrics of time and space to ensure it in the case that they were ever late.

As their carriage pulled up, the Parkinson carriage whisked away to the holding stables for the horses. Her father stepped out. He held Druella's hand delicately as she picked up her skirts and slipped from the carriage. Bellatrix and Andromeda left and Narcissa was last. She took her father's hand and turned her head to look at the front gardens, which were lit up with twinkling lights. Flowers burst electric in a variety of colors. She trained her gaze down the winding driveway lined with trees. The courtyard was perfectly perfumed with the subtle, sweet scented flowers. She inhaled it into her lungs as she followed her family through the massive mahogany doors, which had been opened.

The doors shut behind her. They always shut after they entered, for as long as she could recall. She liked their foyer, with its grey marble floors and enchantingly vaulted ceilings, where candles floated in midair. It was simply decorated, with a few tables and vases on them. To her left was the massive white staircase. She and her sister could lie on them, touching toes, and fit comfortably from the length of the steps (they tried it last Halloween.) Across from the staircase was a hallway that led to the main dining halls. On the right were Ophelia Malfoy's salons, the main lounge, and down a narrow corridor in the back were in kitchens. The wall opposite of the main double doors were another identical set leading to the ballroom, which were open.

Light and noise poured from the doors. The family walked through. Narcissa inhaled. The ceiling was vaulted with long iron candelabras hangings from chains. The room was filled with every member of their society milling with drinks in their hands. The dancing had not yet begun; it was customary that everyone reacquaint themselves with each other and have a sip of liquid courage before dancing. Her parents disappeared with drinks and moved from their children. Her sisters left in opposite directions too; Andromeda refused to dance or drink, and instead spent most of the evening with her group of friends from school. Bellatrix already had a flute of wine in her hand. And it was just Narcissa alone.

She spotted her Aunt Walburga by the food table, her face set in a permanent scowl. She was stuffing hefty morsels of pheasant in her mouth. Narcissa followed where her aunt was staring and ended up looking at her father. She grimaced, hoping her aunt wouldn't get particularly drunk and make a mockery of the family.

To avoid being witness to any of that, Narcissa wound her way from the crowd to the opposite side of the room and out of the back doors to the veranda and garden. This was her favorite place in the Malfoy manor. The garden was set up as a low hedge maze with pops of flowers randomly. And in the center, there was a tree that loomed high above the manor itself, with twisted branches. It was over five hundred years old, planted after the estate had been first built. Tonight, the tree was decorated with tea light candles hanging in small paper lanterns. She walked to the center, having memorized the path of the maze years ago, and stood in front of the massive tree trunk.

Surrounding the tree were flowers and decorative rocks that bore the marriages and the dates of the weddings for every Malfoy married. They had been recurved recently, as even the oldest ones were refreshed, instead of slightly worn away from years of erosion. She found Abraxas and Ophelia Malfoy. Their names were written in beautiful calligraphy with their wedding date, and beneath it said, "I have loved you in every conceivable life I've ever lived, and ever will live. To not have you at my side every second of the day is a knife twisting into my chest."

"Macabre," Narcissa muttered.

But it was known that Abraxas and Ophelia had married out of love as well as an arrangement. Their love story was well-known in the community. Abraxas visited Paris over a summer holiday, and Ophelia, whom had just finished school at _Beauxbatons Academy of Magic,_ was sitting with her sisters and mother outside of an ice cream shop with a book. The Malfoys passed the shop, and from the moment Abraxas saw her, he claimed his universe shifted. He knew that was the only woman he would ever love. He asked his father to identify her family immediately; he needed to know that she was of noble blood, but of course, he wasn't familiar with French noble families. He would have married her even if she hadn't (many families left this part out when they told others the story, but Abraxas didn't) but, as Abraxas believed, the universe had forged their souls together, and she had to fit perfectly. As it turned out, Ophelia Moreau was a pureblood witch from a properly noble French family.

Abraxas asked the proprietor of the bookshop across the street whom the family was, who gladly told him in broken English that the Moreau's were a noble family that lived just outside of Paris. He went back to his father—within three months, the arrangement was sealed. Ophelia met her future husband after six months, when the engagement was announced to both societies. She said that she knew she loved him the second their eyes met.

Of course, from Narcissa's perspective, she believed Ophelia was arranged into a marriage with an Englishman that claimed to spot her in the street and love her, and so she acquiesced the story the best that she could. In truth, she believed Ophelia had fallen in love with Abraxas, but over a period, not instantaneously. Narcissa thought that only the men in her community could believe in love at first site. Rarely did they see anything about women beyond their physical appearance, and somehow this completed their conception of love.

And Ophelia was stunning.

"Narcissa!" a friendly voice called, and she turned around.

Mara Parkinson was a year below her, and they had become best friends in Narcissa's second year at _Hogwarts_. They embraced hard, even though they had seen one another just last week and they wrote letters nearly every day.

"I hoped to see you," Narcissa said, smiling, "You described your dress perfectly in your letter. You should consider a career in writing! You have a gift."

Mara _was_ a published author, unbeknownst to anyone besides Narcissa. She wrote fiction stories for the _Witch's Weekly_ under a male pseudonym, so that others would take her seriously and not assume she was a middle-aged witch writing about romance and love. She was particularly fond of writing mystery short stories and historical fiction.

"You flatter me," Mara said, smiling brightly. "So, Narcissa, have you met a prospective husband to complete your life yet?"

"No such luck," she said.

Mara patted her arm with fake sympathy, and they moved away from some of the people lingering around them. Mara looped her arm through Narcissa's.

"The next issue is being published tomorrow, and I'm really not sure about it, because Aurelia dies," Mara whispered, "What if they hate it? Do you think I'll be forced to resurrect her? I really feel like she's meant to die here, like this is the end, you know?"

When they were far away from others near the back of the maze, Narcissa spoke. "I think that you've been writing Aurelia's story for a year now, and it's time for the readers to accept the ending of the story. Her death makes sense, with all of her power and knowledge, the only thing she can't outwit is death."

"That's how _I_ felt too," Mara said, smiling warmly, "Thank you, Cissy. I just hope everyone will like it."

"I don't think you can guarantee the entire readership will approve," she replied, "but nevertheless, I believe you will find many will strongly adore the ending."

"You'll read it, won't you?" Mara asked her, "Tell me if I've made a grave error."

Narcissa laughed. "I haven't missed a single issue of _Witch's Weekly_ since they started publishing _A Witch Named Aurelia_. Don't worry. You have my full attention, and I will write all of my thoughts down and send them to you in an owl as soon as I've read it."

"Thank you," Mara said, and then she glanced at the ballroom, "I have to go back in and dance with Candra Zabini, he's the first on my card." She frowned deeply. Candra Zabini was a brutish animal—too clever for his own good, but violently crass. His only redeeming features were his rugged handsome looks and voice, which hardly kept him from being repulsive.

"You'll have my letter first thing," she promised, as Mara navigated the maze to go inside for dancing.

Narcissa knew she had to go back soon, but she wasn't quite ready yet. She walked back to the tree and glanced up at the manor. A figure on a balcony caught her eye. It was Lucius Malfoy on the second floor, leaning against the railing. She was perplexed—it was his birthday celebration. If Mara said the dances were starting, his card would be packed with potential suitors. Lucius Malfoy was entering his Seventh Year, and was required to find a bride by the end of summer. She wondered if this was perhaps the reason he was hiding. Childish. Narcissa understood that an arranged marriage wasn't ideal—there was nothing romantic not having a choice in whom you lived your entire life with. They were at tender ages, dying to explore the part of the world they belonged to before they were made to settle with children. Some of them were even in love with someone else, but tradition didn't permit fancies of the heart. One could only leave their society and be written out forever. But none of them could fight fate.

He was looking at the tree, but he didn't see her. She followed his line of sight to the stones underneath. When she looked back at the balcony, he was gone.

Inside, the ballroom was bursting with energy. The drinks were flowing, and the dances had begun. Narcissa stood in front of the overlarge windows, which went from the floor to the ceiling. If it weren't so brightly lit, she knew the moon would shine through the windows. The idea was so beautiful that she wished desperately that she could see it, alone, long after everyone had gone.

"Where have you been?" Bellatrix asked curiously, "Mum's furious."

"I was outside in the garden," Narcissa replied.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "You've seen it a million times, I don't know why you're so obsessed with it. Mum had your card filled, you might go to her and find out who you've got first. I have Lucius, but I can't find him."

"He was upstairs on a second-floor balcony," she said, "I saw him."

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows. "Interesting. Well, I can't mark him off because he's the host, so I'll just have to wait. He's your third, so don't let anyone cut in after two dances."

Narcissa nodded. "Do you remember the marriage stones outside, under that tree?" she asked her sister suddenly.

She shrugged. "Yes. Abraxas put part of his vows on his. Why?"

"Why doesn't our family have something like that?" Narcissa asked.

Bellatrix looked quizzical. She didn't consider anyone else's family traditions but her own. "Probably because it's kind of stupid? We just write it down. It works just as well. No one wants to see a bunch of rocks with dead people's names on them, knowing they were just forced to marry each other and have children in the same place as their ancestors. It's pointless."

No one had ever mistaken Bellatrix for a romantic. She was wildly obsessive about things sometimes, often too literal, selfish, and dramatic, but no one would ever mistake her for someone that cared much about being in love.

She put it out of her mind. Terrence Couch was the first on her card. He was twenty-five, ten years older than her, but a wealthy bachelor. He talked through most of the line dancing, which was annoying, since they were weaving in and out of the group of other dancers, hardly touching except for their hands, and by the time he finished speaking, she hadn't heard a thing, and could only smile and laugh sheepishly. This went on for what felt like ages until the music stopped. Her next partner was Owen Crabbe, who stepped on her foot three times until it was bruised. Clearly, her mother was punishing her for stepping out of the ballroom for so long.

Narcissa left the dance floor and found Bellatrix, who had her arms crossed angrily.

"He's _still_ not shown up!" she exclaimed, "I have a whole line of suitors I could be dancing with, and I'm stuck sitting out like a dolt because of him."

Narcissa leaned against the window sill and winced at the throbbing of her foot. "Well, I'm stuck here with you."

"So is Scarlet," Bellatrix said.

Scarlet Greengrass was in Bellatrix's year, and her younger sister Phoebe was Narcissa's age. They were well-known as the unfortunate daughters of the divorced parents, the only ones whom had ever done so and weren't exiled. The divorce was so scandalous that it had somehow made the family more popular, simply because it was so appalling and uncommon, but the entire ordeal had left the family bankrupt. It was a known fact that their father planned on marrying both his daughters off within the year, just to be rid of them and secure them a bit of money, but the only dowry the girls had were two small estates—the city manor where former Lady Greengrass resided, and the vacation home where their father lived. The prospects were dismal for them both.

Druella saw her daughters and stormed over. "Why are the two of you just _standing_ there? You should be dancing, I filled your cards!"

"We have to wait on Lucius," Bellatrix said, "And he's nowhere to be found."

Her mother's expression softened from rage to worry. She turned sharply and went to Ophelia Malfoy, who had just left the dance floor after a plucky six-year-old asked her to dance. They spoke quickly, and Ophelia's expression remained calm and neutral. She nodded her head and politely smiled, patted Druella's arm, and walked to her husband. Abraxas slipped out of the ballroom unnoticed, a rare feat for a Malfoy.

"They're too lenient with that boy," Druella huffed, as she walked back to her daughter's side. "Letting him choose his bride and skip his own celebratory event. Ophelia said he's been in a _mood_ this week, she thinks it's over not getting Head Boy for his final year of _Hogwarts_."

Narcissa and Bellatrix exchanged glances. Their mother hardly dared to speak ill of someone in the privacy of their own home, let alone in public. She believed it was in "poor taste" and "tacky" to gossip. So, the girls said nothing, as it was very likely they would be punished for gossiping to their mother, even if she had started the topic. Druella frowned and stalked off toward her husband.

Ophelia Malfoy approached them a minute or so later, as if she was waiting for their mother to leave. "Girls, you look magnificent," she said. After so many years in England, her accent was only a soft lilt. They curtseyed and thanked her graciously. "Bellatrix, I understand Lucius was your first dance, and you haven't been able to dance with anyone else. Please, go ahead and enjoy your evening. We will push Lucius to the end of your list, dear."

"Thank you," Bellatrix said, and darted through the crowd.

Narcissa swallowed nervously. She had never been left alone with one of the Malfoys before, it was rather intimidating.

"He should be out in a few minutes or so, if you could just wait a moment for us, Narcissa. I'm terribly sorry for the trouble," Ophelia said, touching her arm, "If you cannot wait, of course, feel free to dance and push him to a different slot."

She shook her head politely. "Of course, I will wait for him."

Ophelia smiled graciously. "Thank you, dear."

She touched her arm again and then swept off to Scarlet Greengrass, who wasn't as obliging, and left to dance with her next partner. Narcissa understood why; the men in their society were outnumbered by women. Missing a single dance could cut her chances of finding a suitable husband significantly. But Narcissa's feet hurt after Crabbe's stupid overlarge feet.

Lucius finally showed up with his father, and nothing appeared to be amiss. His father touched him lightly on the shoulder and guided him to his mother, who whispered in his ear. The entire family suddenly looked at her, and she swallowed hard. She sat up straighter unconsciously. Lucius nodded furtively and stepped across the room toward her.

"I'm sorry to have kept you," he said, just as polite as his mother, "I understand you waited for me. Thank you."

He looked more like his mother than father up close, she noticed, and she wasn't sure why she found that odd, but she did. She expected him to look more like his father.

"It's fine," she replied.

He held out his elbow for her and she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. He brought her to the center of the dance floor as the last song ended. The waltz music picked up—she wasn't aware that they were this late into the evening. It must have been roughly 10:00 pm then.

"Please watch my right foot, Owen Crabbe bruised it terribly," she said.

Lucius had taken her arms up for the waltz, but he dropped them. "Are you injured?" he asked.

"No," she replied, "it's just slightly swollen and bruised, but I can still dance."

"I've never stepped on anyone," he mentioned, smiling softly, "You're in luck."

He was an excellent dancer. She had only been his partner during line dances, which didn't require a great deal of finesse. Waltzing required them to dance closer, for him to lead. He was an immaculate, perfect dancer. He never faltered or hesitated in taking her around the floor, his footsteps were lithe. And even as she stepped and winced painfully over her foot, they somehow made it look graceful.

When the music ended, she was impressed and still in shock. "You're—oh, you're very good," she said, sheepishly.

He laughed and bowed to her. She curtseyed. "Come with me," he told her.

She was confused, but did as he said. He escorted her off of the floor and out of the ballroom, into the foyer. She kept her hand on his elbow. He turned down the corridor where the kitchens were located, and pushed open the door.

The kitchen was brightly lit, but completely empty. She expected more house elves to be in the room, but they weren't in sight.

"Here, let me help you up," he said.

He picked her up by the waist and placed her on the counter. He moved to a drawer and found a dish cloth, and then moved to an ice box and placed the ice in the cloth. He wrapped it neatly and walked back over to her. She lifted her skirts to the ankle and he pulled her shoe off to assess the damage. Her foot was bruised from her toes to her ankle and swollen. He pressed the ice against her foot tenderly.

"You shouldn't be dancing on this," he advised.

She shrugged. "I broke my ankle last summer and danced though it."

He looked up in alarm. Clearly he didn't understand the desperate plight single young women faced. Of course he didn't, she thought. He was the fish they were all trying to catch.

"Well, remind me to never underestimate your resolve," he replied, smiling warmly up at her.

She was taken aback by his grace and kindness. For someone that had looked so morose on the balcony, desperately trying to avoid his own birthday party, he was…well, nice.

"Aren't you concerned that your parents are trying to find you again?" she asked him, "Certainly since it's your birthday, you have a long list of dance partners."

He looked away from her and adjusted the ice on her foot. "Sure, but I'm sure they would be understanding since you've been injured."

Ah, she understood now. He was using her as an excuse to avoid dancing, because dancing meant he had to meet women. And if he avoided them at all costs, then he wouldn't have to choose one to marry. It wasn't a well thought out scheme, or even a smart one, but she understood why he was here now.

"I think I'm cured, Mr. Malfoy," she told him, pulling her foot away and standing up, "Thank you, however, for your help."

He nodded. He tried to help her down from the counter, but she slipped off herself. Her foot was throbbing painfully, but she shoved her shoe on. She refused to limp in front of him. He escorted her back to the ballroom. The dancing was over—which meant they were in for another monologue from Abraxas, who seemed to particularly enjoy himself in those moments.

He lifted his wand to his throat so that everyone could hear him, though Abraxas could be so loud that it hardly mattered. "If anyone has eyes on my son, please let me know now!" The crowd tittered and laughed politely. They looked around and spotted him next to her.

"Ah, thank you, Narcissa, for bringing the scoundrel back," he said, and motioned for Lucius to come forward. He moved through the groups to the center of the room. "Today is a momentous day. It's the seventeenth anniversary of the day my life forever changed, because Lucius was born. I cannot convey the amount of gratitude I have that everyone in our community is here to celebrate the occasion. I wish your families the very best. Please, let's continue dancing. I'll stop blathering on, let's get on with it, then!"

He dropped his wand and laughed. He clapped the man nearest him on the shoulder roughly. The music started again, and the dancing continued. Narcissa went through her card. She nearly slapped one of her partners when he stepped on the same injured foot, but she bit her tongue until she couldn't feel the pain anymore, and moved along to the next partner.

It was 1:00 AM before the party officially ended, but there were still dancers and drinking. Everyone in her family was exhausted, however, and said goodnight to the Malfoys, who looked less cheery than they had hours ago, and sleep deprived. They walked the family to the door.

"I am so happy you came out tonight, Cygnus," Abraxas said, "It's always a pleasure. And your lovely wife and daughters, of course." He bowed to them and they curtseyed.

Ophelia hugged Druella warmly. "I will be at your house for the weekly meeting, despite the late night!" she laughed lightly.

Her mother had some sort of community club for the wives and they did projects of some sort, but Narcissa didn't know the details; it sounded horrendously boring. Her mother was the leader and hostess, so all of the wives sat in her salon for a few hours each week.

The carriage was in front of the house, and they climbed in sleepily. Bellatrix leaned her head against Andromeda and fell asleep almost instantly. And Narcissa lifted her legs up and took off her shoes. The night was finally over.


	2. 2

"We wait, starving for moments

of high magic to inspire us,

but life is full of common

enchantment waiting for our

alchemist's eyes to notice."

Jacob Nordby

Narcissa pressed her cheek to the cold marble floor and swayed with each blink of her eyes. Her stomach churned and pressed against her corset—her throat burned and she tasted acid and the thick layer of champagne on her tongue. Her heart seemed to pound in her chest and beads of sweat erupted at her hairline; she was a mess, lying on the floor in one of the loos at the Parkinson manor trying with great difficulty to not vomit everywhere. She begged her body to comply and for her head to stop spinning. She decided then, quite dramatically, that this was worse than dying, and she never wanted to drink again. She peeled her face from the floor and stumbled to the door and opened it. A rush of warm air hit her and turned her stomach. She made it to an open window at the end of the corridor and vomited in the windowsill flower box.

She wiped her mouth and wobbled down the hall. When she reached the end of it, her instincts made her stop as she heard hushed whispers. She hid herself in an alcove behind a statue—she hardly wanted to be a scandal. She wasn't even certain that she was hidden well enough, but she hoped the darkness could shield her from prying eyes. She held her hand over her mouth to quiet her breathing. There were two people walking—a woman, she noted, by the swishing of skirts on the floor. She gulped down the acid creeping up her throat again and tried to hold herself together. The hallway was dreadfully warm; she should have stayed on the floor in the bathroom.

"I must have you," a man said quietly, urgently. The figures stopped a few feet away from Narcissa. "Marry me and I promise you immortality. I will love you forever—always. That means way more than a comfortable life in a mansion, don't you think?"

It was not a voice she recognized at all.

The voice whispered, "I barely _know_ you."

"I knew from the first moment I saw you that our souls are the same," he proclaimed with a conviction that made Narcissa shiver slightly.

The woman sighed heavily. "I have a duty to fulfill. You know I can't, even if what you are saying is true. You don't understand."

"Yes, I think I understand precisely what you mean," the voice snapped. His voice was so cold that Narcissa recoiled into herself. "You could live with me forever. I could give you anything you ever wanted. Far _better_ than any of these men with their trinkets could offer. But you'll sacrifice that to be livestock your parents trade to another family. They don't even know you! They don't love you! _I love you_. You won't be a slave to them if you just marry me."

The intensity in which he burned through the words "I love you" frightened Narcissa, and she felt overwhelmingly sobered by the ordeal. Nothing had sounded more like a threat than the words pouring from his mouth.

"I'm deeply sorry," she said, and turned away from him.

She heard her footsteps recede down the hall. After a few minutes, he left as well, and she was left in the corridor, fixated on the floor and swimming with this secret.

Narcissa promptly retched down the side of the statue.

The sun spilled in through the part in the curtains and Narcissa groaned. She rolled over and shoved a feather pillow over her head to try and stop the maddening thumping and the eruption of pain all over her skull. She scarcely remembered the night before at all, only downing champagne flutes until she was dizzy, and then crouching behind a statue upstairs, listening to someone else's life unfold.

The bed hangings were open, meaning her mother must have woken her. She rolled onto her back and lifted the pillow from her head. Her gown was tossed haphazardly onto the floor near her wardrobe chest. Her shoes and corset were tossed aside—she was in her sleeping gown and her hair had been freed of the braids and adornments, so her mother must have undressed her and put her to bed. She had hoped to retain an ounce of dignity, but it seemed she wasn't capable of such a feat. She couldn't even remember _why_ she'd drank so much, but the Parkinson's were known for throwing a party that no one could recall the next morning.

As she padded down the hallway to the bathroom, she noticed all of the bed chamber doors were closed. Not even her parents had woken, then, which was quite rare. She shut the door behind her and turned on the faucet. Makeup was streaming down her cheeks and she sighed and washed it off. Her skin was raw and red, eyes and cheeks puffy. She brushed her teeth since there was a lingering taste of vomit (embarrassing). When she was somewhat freshened up, she opened the door and walked to her bedroom.

On her end table, was a tiny red vial. She picked it up and then read the small notecard that was placed underneath it:

 _Drink for relief, and read the final chapter in_

Witch's Weekly _this morning and tell me what you think._

– _Love, M._

She downed the contents—immediately the pressure in her skull left, the dull and aching grogginess dispersed, and she felt somewhat rested. She sighed in relief. Narcissa smiled. Mara must have taken care of her, or at least known something. Her father was a fluent potion's master, and she learned a great deal from him, perhaps more than she had at Hogwarts.

The ending of _The Witch Named Aurelia_ was a bewitching recount of the series and Narcissa read steadily, engrossed by the last heroic choice that Aurelia faced: go into the enchanted forest and fight the werewolves to save her community, or return to her home to marry. In the end, Aurelia was ravaged by the clan leader, but her cunning and forethought lead her to poison the drinking water of the werewolves with a cure that turned them human again. Narcissa quickly found her quill and ink to respond to Mara:

 _It does tell an alarming fact of our society and those of us that agree with Auriela's choice._

 _We'd rather be slaughtered by wolves than become slaves of society._

 _Poignant message, Mara. I daresay I wish the option to fight evil instead of becoming a housewife was a choice for me as well._

 _Love, N._

Narcissa thought of the conversation she overhead, and she wondered if the girl in the corridor identified with a message like that. Narcissa didn't find it difficult to admit: she was jealous. She wanted something as interesting as a secret whirlwind romance to rid her of the monotony of everyday life.

Hours into the afternoon, Mara called upon her home with her mother, who was there to see Druella. Mara raced up the stairs with Narcissa to her bedroom. She thought to tell Mara about the girl but couldn't bring herself to. She wanted to keep it for herself for a little while longer.

"The editor says there are incredibly mixed reviews so far," Mara whispered, "On the one hand, the vast majority of readers in our society are _moved_ by the ending. Outside of it, though…they were really hoping Aurelia would marry and settle down."

Narcissa sat on the edge of her bed and pulled the crochet throw pillow over her stomach. "That is expected," she admitted, "The other side looks more romantic, regardless of which side of the fence you are on." She paused for a moment. "What will you write next?"

Mara pursed her lips. "I'm torn. I don't like writing romance, but I have mapped an idea for one. I also have an idea for a mystery. I think it will depend on what the editor takes."

"What's the romance about?" Narcissa asked, pulling at the threads of the pillow.

She grimaced. "A succubus refashions herself into a life of luxury and prominence by wooing an entire society of aristocrats. She sends love letters to every eligible bachelor and has the power to know what makes them fall in love, so she turns into the perfect woman for every one of them and arranges marriages with over thirty men, subsequently gaining all of their wealth and titles. And then I think she'll kill them all, but I'm not sure."

"That hardly sounds like a romance," she replied, laughing, "more like a horror story."

Mara grinned. "Well, _someone_ is falling in love in it."

"So long as they can stay alive," she retorted.

Mara nodded her head. She went to the window and gazed out at the forest beyond the property. She wasn't as brave as Narcissa, who felt more at home stalking the earth and climbing trees than she did wearing a corset. "I'm terribly bored by this world, Cissy," she said, sighing exasperatedly.

Max bumped the door open with her paw and trotted in, covered in grass stains and leaves. She jumped on the bed behind Narcissa, leaving dirt all over the comforter. Narcissa pretended not to notice. "We are just the latest in a long line of bored young women," she said, her lips curling into a rather sad smile.

"I don't want to be a part of it anymore," she said, tears welling in her eyes. She quickly wiped at her eyes, refusing to show weakness. "As soon as I am married, my writing career dies. It's all I want."

It was true that running the home would become the first and foremost job, and then childrearing would take over. Women in their society had a great deal of expectation on their shoulders toward running the home and raising children, but their true duty was honoring the whims of their husbands. Many modern wives preferred the services of nannies, and barely interacted with their children, so that they could act at a moment's notice if their husband called upon them. Druella was not that kind of mother; with no love for her husband, she devoted herself to her children instead. Her father was known to call for his wife repeatedly, and she reminded him how utterly busy she was with this task or that.

"We must make use of the time we have left," Narcissa said, aware that it sounded like the both of them had terminal illnesses. "Write as much as you can before it is too late."

She had no wild passion like Mara, unless she counted being outdoors. Much of which she could still do, though not as much as she would like or in the same forest which she was used to.

Mara nodded her head and sniffed. She moved from the window to Narcissa and grasped both of her hands. "Promise me we'll have an adventure," she said, "A real one. Like the ones in stories. Before all the conversations we'll have is about hosting dinner soirées and changing babies."

Narcissa smiled conspiratorially. "Okay. Let's do it."

She didn't take Mara seriously in that moment, assuming she was just a wistful young girl facing a reality that frightened her. Narcissa too sought out adventure before the death of her youth, but knew it was quite likely that it wouldn't happen. The mere task of securing a husband kept one busy enough; there hardly seemed the time. Besides, in Mara's stories, the girls were saving villages and vanquishing giant monsters in spite of their parents or their society. Or they were Aurors solving crime in the underbelly of their world. Or better yet, princesses befriending dragons and going to battle with them in the heavens. None of these tasks could be accomplished by the likes of underage witches.

Mara set to work on orchestrating the initial stages of an adventure over the next few days, and Narcissa, convinced that her best friend would lose interest quickly when her next series began publishing again, set the idea to the side. She was mostly consumed by her mother's constant bickering with Andromeda, who seemed to be growing more angst ridden as the years passed.

" _Comb_ your hair!" Druella shouted in the hall, her back to her daughter, who stood defiantly in the doorway of her bedchamber, giving her the finger. "And drop your hand before I break it, young lady!"

She burst through Narcissa's door to find her curled in the center of her bed with a journal and Max wrapped around her hip, eyes carefully alert and guarded. "Your room smells of dog and ink," her mother announced, and shut the door with a smart slam. She went immediately to the window and opened it, then breathed in the air. Her mother sat at the window seat and sighed.

"Mum?" Narcissa asked, raising her eyebrows.

"It's my house!" she snapped, "I can relax where I want!" Narcissa bit her lip and suppressed the urge to snap back at her. She looked back down to the journal and continued sketching the outline of the Malfoy's matrimonial tree from memory.

Her mother's shoulders shook, and she sobbed silently. Narcissa wondered suddenly if that window had been cursed. She looked at Maxie, who tilted her head and panted. Narcissa shrugged. She wasn't good with other people's emotions; she ran away when she felt too much and found peace in solitude. It was calming to know the world was carrying on without her interference, to know that she did not always have to be so intertwined with others. And if she were honest, her mother did little to encourage empathy or much emotion. She wasn't a particularly warm woman. She had a duty and she fulfilled it; her mother cared more for the results of something than the journey to success. She would have made quite a shrewd entrepreneur had it been an option.

"Mother," she said, clearing her throat, "I'm sure Andy doesn't mean to be so cruel."

Her mother let out a strangled laugh. "Daughters hate their mothers until they become them. Dear girl. My greatest worry is how I am going to find husbands deserving of such a keen, thoughtful, and spirited girl. And I have to find _three_. It's impossible."

In a way, she complimented all three of her daughters. She also knew that those were dreadful adjectives to attribute to girls like them. They were not personality quirks; they were death sentences.

"And of course, Ophelia Malfoy is beyond comprehension when it comes to these things. One boy! One boy and she has the audacity to demand he fall in love and _choose_. He doesn't even have time to choose! What can a girl do? Slip him a love potion?" Druella ranted. "She says to me the other day over tea, 'Drue, darling, why all the fuss? My husband saw me on the street and pursued me!' As if I should parade my daughters through Diagon Alley and wait for a pureblood bachelor to notice and bed for one of your hands. "The thing that she fails to notice, and that men do too, is that it's not the _men_ orchestrating anything. Every moment falls on the spine of the woman. The woman and most likely her mother, if her mother is worth any salt!"

She stood up and smoothed her skirts. "Don't ever forget the impossibility of your situation. Drawing pictures of Maxie won't get you anywhere!" She snatched the journal from Narcissa, expecting to see another childish rendition of something around the house, but instead she saw the intricate shading of a tree she had seen her whole life. She could only just make out the vow between Abraxas and Ophelia.

It had not occurred to Druella that her daughter might make an impression on the Malfoys. She wiped tears imperceptivity. "Tear it out, girl!" she barked.

"Mother!" Narcissa cried.

She tore the parchment herself when Narcissa didn't respond and folded it in half, tucking it into her skirts. She sniffed and strode from the room, slamming the door behind her.

"That _woman_!" she seethed, running her hands down the spine of the journal where pieces of parchment were jagged from the tears, and the black thread binding was slightly exposed.

Narcissa sighed heavily, dipped her quill in ink, and started all over again with the same drawing.

There was an intimate dinner party at the Black's a few days later for Andromeda's birthday. Her mother spent most of the day screaming about the amount of dust that accumulated in the house over the summer, when they spent most of the time lazing in the coolest parts of the home. Today was different. Beneath the layer of sweltering heat was the clear nervous energy their mother was spinning in. She hardly trusted the house elves to clean, and was too agitated for magic, so she dusted the lights by hand, polished the banister, and scrubbed the marble on her hands and feet. Cygnus was unmoved by his wife's antics and spent the day smoking in his lounge and arguing politics vehemently with his brother-in-law.

"You're to sit on the stairs," Druella said, brushing sweaty fly-aways from her forehead, her chest heaving.

"Mother, please, get some water," Narcissa said, pulling the woman to the cooler side of the home. She pushed open the kitchen door and made her sit at the breakfast bar. She picked a glass and poured her water.

Druella downed it greedily. "You sit and draw on the stairs. I showed Ophelia your drawing the other day during our gardening meeting."

"You don't know anything about gardening," she replied, aghast, " _I_ do all of our gardening!"

Her mother rolled her eyes. "You know I only joins these things for posterity. Anyway, during our gardening meeting, I showed Ophelia, who stated she had never seen such a beautiful rendition, and I'm _certain_ she told Lucius, whom I am told is quite the intellectual, but everyone is touched by an artist. So, I need you to wait for him and capture him with your depth and soft creative side."

Beguile the man with a caricature of her personality so that they could gloss over the rest of the imperfections. Clever, her mother, thought Narcissa thought it was a little stupid that she be forced to sit on the staircase for most of the night just to have the small window of opportunity to seduce Lucius Malfoy.

"What if I'm approached by someone else who takes the bait?" Narcissa asked, furrowing her eyebrows, "Like Aunt Walburga, demanding to know why I'm sitting on the stairs, when I should be selling myself to the highest bidder?"

Druella's nostrils flared at the mention of Walburga Black. " _Well_ , that is quite simple. You tell your Aunt to take her fat ass back to the food table and stuff her mouth, and you tell her you hope she chokes!"

As touching as it was to hear her mother be so candid, Narcissa had a feeling that she was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

As planned, Narcissa danced through the small card her mother wrote for her. She danced with Candra Zabini, an impish young man with a tendency toward chaos, and then with an aging bachelor whom was nearly forty, who promptly told her that he preferred crafting chamber pots in his basement to dancing with women. After the two, she skipped out of the dance hall and went up the stairs by herself.

Bellatrix came out of her room, looking disheveled and scared. She pressed her back to the door when Narcissa came up. She shook herself and ran passed her, lips pressed in a line. Narcissa noticed after that the sleeve of her dress was ripped—odd, but not out of the ordinary. It wasn't the first time Bellatrix had brought a boy upstairs to snog.

She opened her bedroom door and collected the ink well, quill, and leather-bound journal. Maxie was in her overlarge crate, biting at the metal bars and trying to bend them with her feet. Narcissa frowned. "I'm sorry girl," she whispered, and closed the door with a soft snap. Maxie would promptly eat the dinner guests if she let her out.

She walked down the stairs and sat at exactly where she and her mother had rehearsed, on the sixth step. She spread the train of her gown out to give a flowing effect; it touched the edge of the floor on the last step. She opened the journal and flipped to a half-finished drawing of ivy crawling over a stone wall. It was difficult to draw the tiny leaves, and quickly she was immersed in doing so that she didn't notice she caught someone's attention.

"I didn't know you drew," the voice called casually.

 _Shit_ , Narcissa thought, as she drew her eyes up to the full height of Theo Parkinson. It was Mara's brother. _Go away!_

"As it so happens, I do, yes," she said, breathlessly and annoyed.

Her mother wouldn't say yes to a propose made by Theodore Parkinson. Her father might, just to get her out of his house, but he wouldn't get very far with that decision. No. Her mother was ambitious. She wanted the impossible Malfoy that couldn't be bought or coerced with blackmail. But whom could woo the reclusive young man? Not Bellatrix, who had very little verbal finesse and was bored by all conversation. Nor Andromeda, a deeply opinionated intellectual that would currently burn her life to the ground before she did something to appease her mother. No, the two were at war. It had to be the daughter that who could keep calm under intense pressure. One whose soul was its own ecosystem.

"Gee, you should teach me some time," he said, "I can barely draw a straight line, ha ha. Yours are so pretty."

A side door opened from the kitchens. Druella was spying. She growled when she saw Theo. She stomped over and waved him on. " _Come_ , Theo, your mother just asked me about where you were. I would hate for her to worry about you."

He was older than Narcissa, but he wasn't Lucius. Druella shuffled him into the ballroom and closed the door. She let out a sigh of relief when he was gone. She bent over her drawing again and drew as the candle melted and dripped small droplets of wax onto the stair. She squinted and leaned to see the detail of what she was drawing.

This entire plan was ridiculous. Her mother had been quite sure that Lucius would duck out of the party like he had on his birthday, but thus far she hadn't seen him. Perhaps she should have been positioned just by the courtyard. He could have gone out there. Or better yet, he'd had a proper scolding from his parents, and now he was going through his entire dance card like a good boy.

She wasn't to go looking for him. Foolish as the idea was, she was grateful that she didn't have to create a reason to mingle with him. Her mother took out much of the leg work involved. Narcissa shifted her weight. Sitting rigid in the perfectly eloquent pose had its drawbacks as well, however. It was growing increasingly difficult to sit on wooden stairs, legs gently drawn like an afterthought, her hair gliding against her back and perfectly trailing to the focal point of her journal in her hand as she sketched. Narcissa noted with irritation that Lucius would probably have to be directly facing her to even get the full effect of her silhouette and poise.

Narcissa sighed and moved her legs. She'd had quite enough of this. She straightened her knees and cringed as the stabbing pains throbbed up her legs. She closed her journal and looked up, then froze.

Lucius sat on a bench across from her with a book in his hand, eyes trained on the pages. Her eyes darted across the front, his fingers were spread just so that she could not view the title. Narcissa silently cursed herself for not hearing him arrive. She folded her legs morosely back into their position and opened the journal, pretending not to notice him. Her mother had forbidden her from speaking first. That was one of the rules. So, she didn't bother him, as he read whatever it was he'd either found or brought with him.

After twenty or so minutes, the book shut with a soft snap and the wooden bench shifted as he stood up. Her legs were full of pin pricks, but she was rigid and refusing to move. She did not look up or acknowledge him. With her bad luck, he would go back to the dance and not say anything to her at all.

"Miss Black," he said, at the foot of the stairs, where her mother wanted him to stand, "your candle appears to have melted."

She looked up at the candle. It had dripped all the way down the wall, leaving bubbled wax against the aging wallpaper.

"So, it has," she said idly.

She could hardly spin that into something interesting or coy.

"How is your ankle?" he asked curiously.

She'd forgotten about his birthday. He had been alarmed at the state of her injury, though that wasn't the worst bruising she had endured from a man's messy footing.

She lifted her gowns to the ankle. "All appears healed."

"That's excellent to hear," he replied.

Finally, he took the bait she'd been showing for two hours. "You were drawing?"

"Ah, yes," she said, feigning sheepishness, "I'm very fond of plants and just…sketches, I guess."

"May I?" he asked, holding out his hand. She noticed he braced a leg against the first stair.

Handing over her drawings was a bit like handing him her diary, and she was hesitant, but did not refuse. She closed the journal and handed it to him. Lucius sat down on the step below her. He flipped to the beginning. She could see them over his shoulder.

His expression turned to a soft smile when he saw a photo of Maxie, asleep in front of the fire in the lounge. Narcissa liked that one best, because every sweeping piece of her fur seemed so real to her. She poised her chin on her fist and looked at them with him.

"That's my dog," she explained, "Her name is Max."

Maxie was a feature of her journal. The next few pages were of her. One sitting on a cliff in the forest, overlooking the manor. There was a dozen or so of various foliage and wood images.

"Do you enjoy Herbology?" he asked her.

"Oh, yes," she said, smiling embarrassingly, "I have quite a lot in my room."

The journal provided an example, as the next sketch he flipped to was the view of the window from her bed, with each of the pots nestled around the light in the early morning.

"I see," he said, laughing lightly. "You are very good at this."

He turned to a photo of her sisters playing Wizard's chess in the lounge in ball gowns, playing while they waited for the entire family to be ready for a party. This was one of the few sketches she'd gone back and colored, but she only got to Bellatrix's ruby red gown. But each curl was defined perfectly, falling over her shoulders and spilling down her back in the same common ringlets she had naturally.

"Thank you," she replied demurely.

He turned to a large drawing of a leaf. He touched his lips as he admired them. "These are better than photographs." He flipped through the pages, taking time to fully investigate each scene. She wasn't certain if he was gleaming something from them that others could not see.

He stopped when he saw the Malfoy tree. She watched his eyes roam over the lines, perhaps looking for imperfections. There were bound to be many; she didn't have the privilege of drawing in front of it. He flipped the page without commenting on it. Odd.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I was drawing it from memory. I apologize if it is inaccurate."

"No, no," he remarked, and turned back to it, "That's the thing…it's...like I am looking directly at it."

She remembered seeing him on the balcony, staring at that tree with a great deal of grief. She wondered if he felt the weight of expectation when he looked at it, or if it was a symbol of the end for him. She watched him flip to the front of the journal and look at Maxie on the cliff. He turned and looked at the rabbits she'd drawn near the gurgling creek where she swam.

"I like these the most," he said.

Of course he did. The rabbits were free.

Light suddenly spilled across them from the ballroom. Guests were leaving in groups. Lucius quickly stood up, and so did Narcissa, smoothing her skirt. Her legs were throbbing painfully, but she didn't wince. He suddenly tucked her journal into the inside of his jacket pocket.

"Lucius," Narcissa said, somewhat demanding.

She felt raw and exposed with it in his hands. She clenched her fists at her sides.

"You'll get it back," he said, suddenly smiling, "I promise."

He turned down the steps and met up with his parents as they walked out, and he went into the night without a backward glance.

" _Well?_ " her mother demanded, as soon as everyone had gone.

Narcissa was speechless. She hardly knew how to explain what he had just done to her.

"He stole it," she finally said, dazed. "Lucius Malfoy is an art thief."

They were only drawings. Why would he take them?

But this meant something else to her mother, who squealed and reached for her husband for the first time since Narcissa was conceived, and planted a kiss directly on his mouth, despite his moustache, which she hated.


	3. 3

"What a strange place the mind can be.

For it is the only home you can escape to,

but cannot run away from.

And it's entirely yours."

Orenda

The Sacred Twenty-Eight summer balls were officially over, and the celebration of each pureblood family came to a close. Narcissa's feet were bruised and swollen from another poor dancing partner, and she met the end of the season with immense relief. Her mother wept from the stress of it all and spent the next week in bed. She refused to eat anything beyond broth and spent most of her time pouring through fiction romance novels. In the emptiness that their mother's presence left in the home, Narcissa found a quiet comfort, lounging in her muggle shorts or tights and wandering outside in the heat. Without her mother there to chastise her for not adorning her hair in pearls or wearing a corset, she could run freely. In the week that her mother was resting, Narcissa worked on a decent tan while swimming in the creek or gardening alongside Andy, and as a result, she and her sister had a healthy glow. Bellatrix was in one of her haunted moods, and laid in her cot in the lower hallway, complaining about the unbearable heat.

Andy, Narcissa, and Mara were shopping in Diagon Alley, adorned in their forbidden Muggle clothing (which, as she noticed, were very much in vogue. The other girls their age and older were wearing similar pieces.) They slipped into Flourish and Blotts. The school flurry hadn't begun yet, and so it was fairly empty, the only patrons were stuffed into corners with large volumes, pouring over them.

"I really loved the last story that was in _Witch's Weekly_ ," Andromeda commented, when she saw a small stand with the paper advertised for the _Aurelia_ story.

Mara blushed crimson. "Oh, yes, it was quite good."

Andromeda shrugged. "They're doing nature poetry now, not really interesting."

"I quite like the poetry," Narcissa commented, " _'What hides beyond the trees—not wolves—but girls with eyes full of enchantment_.' I quite liked that line, although it certainly feels like it's the same poem written over and over again."

She and her sister often had opposing views on what they considered good writing— _A Witch Name Aurelia_ was apparently the few they had in common—but still, they always traded books and quibbled about the meanings.

"It's _awful_ ," Andy whined, curling her lip in disgust, "The poetry is just copying the themes of _Aurelia_ because it was a hit. Cissy, you must realize that, beyond the pretty language, there's no actual meaning?"

Narcissa huffed. "I mean, if you collectively string sentences together, they typically mean something."

Andromeda rolled her eyes, but she was too happy to provide a proper conjecture against her younger sibling.

The girls walked together up the staircase to the upper level of novels and perused some of the historical sections. Neither of them was particularly interested in the Troll Wars, but Narcissa picked up a novel about Albus Dumbledore defeating Gellert Grindelwald in a duel.

"Did Cissy tell you about our mother's latest show of tyranny?" Andy asked Mara lightly, as she glanced at Narcissa to gauge her response.

"No," Mara answered, curiously peering up from the book in her hands.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "She's determined my suitor. He hasn't noticed me in the slightest, but she has chosen him."

"Who?" Mara asked.

"Lucius Malfoy," Andromeda finished, curling her lip in disgust, "Slytherin's greatest asshole."

Narcissa pursed her lips. "He seems nice. Just because you were almost sorted in Ravenclaw…"

"You didn't have Prefect duty with him last year," she interrupted, "he skipped every patrol we had to do. I had to walk the dungeons by myself at night." She shuddered.

He _did_ seem to come and go as he pleased, so she was hardly surprised. Still, she knew very little about her possible betrothal. If she weren't groomed for this life, she might have been disturbed by her lack of knowledge. But this was utterly commonplace.

Mara's eyebrows were raised in shock, and it was clear that it took her time to form her words carefully. "He seems…well, awfully _serious_."

Andromeda snickered. "His personality is a flat line. I hope, for your sake, Cissy, that you settle down enough and lose some of your spark."

"I've danced with him nearly a thousand times," Mara added, "he has never once remembered my name."

Narcissa felt quite amused by the outside view of this young man, that might be hers. "He stole my journal of sketches last week," she told them, as perhaps they could glean the meaning from it better than her. "He said he would give it back, but it has been a week."

"The ones with Max?" Mara asked, frowning.

"He probably destroyed it," Andy said loftily, as she tried to decide between two books—she couldn't, so she decided to keep both.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. Andromeda often commented on the extreme prejudices of their society, but she certainly had her own. One day, probably soon, her words would mince just so with her mother, and they would have a real row. Not like the ones they had now—Narcissa knew this was all building to an explosive fallout. Everyone in the house could feel it. Narcissa surmised that as soon as a husband was chosen for Andy, she would flee. She loved her sister dearly, but she also thought it sad to make her suffer so. Each one of them had to carve out an existence for themselves, and it was only a matter of time before Andromeda left them far behind. She could see it coming, but she wasn't sure anyone else could. Some birds could live in a gilded cage, and some could not. Narcissa was still yet unsure of which kind she was.

The girls found their purchases (Narcissa strayed to the fiction section and found much more interesting books) and they approached the counter.

"Miss Black," the proprietor greeted first, then nodded his head, "Miss Black, Miss Parkinson. Are we delivering these directly?"

"All but this one," Narcissa said, pulling one of the books back. He nodded and placed the books behind them on a shelf.

"They'll be arriving shortly," he said, and bowed deeply to them.

Their families had a direct charging system, where they made their selections and they were delivered at home and charged to an account. Narcissa was not certain how much they had charged this summer in books alone. In fact, she had no idea how much any of them had even cost.

They stepped into the sun. Narcissa clutched the novel to her chest and looked around. Mara elbowed her roughly in the side and motioned—Lucius Malfoy was walking with Theo Parkinson and Abraham Nott by the Leaky Cauldron. The boys around him were tossing Bertie Bott's beans into their mouths and howling at the tastes. But Lucius, his long hair tied to the nape of his neck with pieces escaping in the wind, remained stoic.

His eyes lifted to hers as though he sensed someone looking. Mara quickly turned, and Andy averted her gaze, but Narcissa hadn't been fast enough—he caught her staring unabashedly, her face just as expressionless as his. Mara grabbed Narcissa, laughing embarrassedly, and pulled her across the street with Andromeda in tow. They quickly slipped down Knockturn Alley, and the bustle of the shopping market died. Mara leaned against the brick wall.

" _He saw_!" she exclaimed, trying not to laugh.

Andromeda shook her head. "I forgot just how young fifteen is."

"She's fourteen," Narcissa corrected, with a slight shrug.

Andy sighed heavily. "Okay, I'm leaving and getting ice cream. If the two of _you_ want to adventure off stupidly down Knockturn Alley, by all means. Live up to your family expectation."

Narcissa handed her sister the novel in her hand and shrugged as Andromeda stared at her, her eyes telling her to go with her and not Mara.

"Come!" Mara said, seizing Narcissa by the arm, "You promised me we would go on an adventure."

She was dragged down the steps to the lonely, grey shops, and wistfully looked behind her at her sister. She could have had an ice cream cone if she had chosen her friends better. "I didn't realize creepy stores full of dark artifacts was your idea of an adventure."

There were grotesque shrunken heads in the window of the shop she was in front of. There were bones and human fingernails in another window. An embalmer's store front had a cat curled up on a wooden chair, and the cat blinked as it watched them, flicking its tail. She shuddered at the green eyes and silted pupils—she found cats unsettling, though her mother had one named Miss Prissy Boots when Narcissa was young.

Despite knowing her father frequented the area, her mother strictly forbade her daughters from going. Narcissa only knew that Bellatrix had gone once, to the White Wyvern, and she had a small, distant memory of a strange shop she visited with her father. That tiny memory might have been the reason they weren't allowed to go there.

Narcissa was rarely afraid of the outdoors. She was, however, inexplicably terrified of the grey, tattered looking market place. Every beat of her heart told her to run, run like a rabbit.

"Mara, I think we should _go_ ," she hissed, as a man slowly opened a door and watched them, hands in the pockets of his robes. His fingers were probably perched on the handle of his wand, waiting to strike at them.

She didn't listen. She stopped in front of a rustic sign, _The Coffin House_ , a shop for raising the dead. Narcissa blanched.

"Oh, _fuck_ no, Mara, let's get out of here!" Narcissa whispered and yanked on her arm.

The door flung open and a man, unquestionably a vampire in tattered, greying robes, came out of the door, hissing at them. Mara shrieked and twisted out of Narcissa's gasp. She pulled out her wand, as if she might try to duel him.

"Just _run_!" Narcissa screamed and pulled her by the arm.

They sprinted up the alley. Narcissa turned her head to look at the vampire, who looked annoyed by the disturbance.

They ran head first into a group of men and fell backward. Narcissa twisted her ankle and scuffed her elbow. Blood erupted from the wound immediately and pooled against her skin. Her ankle, which was already bruised, erupted in a fire of pain.

"Theo!" Mara cried, wrapping her arms around her older brother.

"Are you completely stupid?" he asked, " _brandishing_ your wand at someone in Knockturn Alley? I'm shocked you aren't in pieces."

The sound of clumsy footsteps came from behind them, and Andromeda appeared, breathless. "I heard screams," she said.

"They're fine," Theo answered, helping his sister up.

"Miss Black," a voice murmured.

Lucius knelt down to look at her ankle. It was quickly swelling. Suddenly, she wished she was hidden beneath yards of silk, so that she could hide the wound beneath her layers and pretend it wasn't there. Her bare legs and shoulders seemed suddenly inappropriate and tacky.

Andy swept to her sister's side and pulled her up the shoulder. "I'll take her home," she said, immediately protective.

Narcissa's blood was starting to run down Andy's shoulder.

"I'll escort you," he said.

Theo and Mara followed behind them. Theo was vehemently chastising Mara—Narcissa didn't see their interactions often, as Theo was usually dismayed to spend time with girls, but she knew Mara's parents were often absent. It seemed Theo had stepped in where there were missing pieces. Alas, Druella Black had probably woken in a sweat from her afternoon nap, having somehow sensed her child was in some kind of danger.

Narcissa forced herself to gingerly step on her ankle, but she kept her arm wound around Andromeda's, and she dug her nails into her skin every time a shock of pain went up her calf. Her sister, though pained, said nothing about it. The Black family showed no sign of weakness. Not in life. Not in death. They were always pure.

They reached the Leaky Cauldron after seven minutes of slow walking. "We'll go home and have our mother take care of her ankle," Andy said to Lucius and Theo.

"I'm so sorry, Cissy," Mara said, nervously, "I didn't think it would be so awful."

Narcissa couldn't be angry at her best friend. She twisted her lips into a smile. "It could have been much worse. The best part was when you tried to fight off a vampire."

" _Stupid_ ," Theo spat.

"I thought it was brave," Mara argued.

"Be smart, not brave," he retorted, "and you won't get yourself into situations like that."

Andromeda huffed. "Yes, well, I think we've had enough Gryffindor behavior today, let's get mum's expertise on that ankle, yes, Cissy?"

Narcissa looked at Lucius. "My journal."

"Yes?" he replied, fighting a smile that turned at the corner of his lips.

"I want it back," she told him.

He deliberated for a moment, and then nodded. He pulled it from his inside pocket and handed it to her. Why was he carrying it around? Narcissa furrowed her eyebrows and stared at him for a long moment before Andy pulled her inside to use the Floo Network. She tucked it against her chest and felt the awful pull as they spun through the fireplaces.

They came out in the main foyer. Narcissa almost vomited from the spinning, but she spilled out onto the marble, and crawled out. Andromeda slipped gracefully from the fireplace and called loudly for their mother.

She came down the stairs, hair pulled tight into a bun, wearing her nightgown still. It was clear she'd been sleeping all day again.

"Good _grief_ , what happened?" she demanded, pulling out her wand. She dropped to Narcissa's leg and inspected her ankle.

"She tripped and twisted it," Andy said.

It didn't matter that her sister was older or that they shared vastly different views on almost every subject. Not one of them would tell on the other.

Her mother mended her ankle with her wand. Her ankle cracked back into place, and Narcissa felt bile rising in her throat, the only thing that kept her from screaming. She faded the bruising until her skin was normal. Her ankle, though fully repaired, still felt a little tender. Her mother went about healing the bruises from her dance season, and then stood up.

"Be careful, Cissy," she said, twisting her fingers together.

Despite how hard she was on her children, she loved them endlessly. From the back of the corridor, they heard rustling, and Bellatrix appeared by the stairs, squinting at them. Her hair was wildly unkempt. She was half-dressed in undergarments and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

"Can't anyone get a proper kip in this house?" she asked and turned back to her cot. "Be quiet!" she added with a hiss.

Narcissa heard her fall into it and sigh. She and her mother could lie in bed all day and be quite content. The opposite was true of Andy and Narcissa, both of whom had brains that would not quieten long enough to keep them in once place. It was understood that this was a trait of Cygnus, as he was a very 'busy' man himself, always pacing or thinking.

Narcissa went up to her bedroom after Bellatrix shushed them. Her books had been delivered and were stacked neatly on the ottoman in front of her bed. She dropped the journal onto her bed, relieved that Lucius had finally given it back. Max wasn't in her room and hadn't greeted her, so she must have been wandering in the woods by herself. Narcissa sighed and picked up a quill, hoping to draw the terrifying face of that man in Knockturn Alley, to draw Mara pointing her wand at him.

She flipped open the journal. He hadn't seemed to tamper with it at all. She flipped through the pages to be sure. She stopped at the last drawing she had, of the tree in his gardens. She noticed immediately that this one was different. He had moved some of the lines in the tree, retraced her knots and limbs until they were more accurate. He'd spent a great deal of time correcting it, she noticed. He filled in the family names on the stones she had forgotten. She wasn't sure what had possessed him to make it look more realistic, perhaps a small part of him couldn't let anything imperfect exist.

On the next page, he'd drawn an incredibly detailed portrait of her on the staircase. Her hair was braided down her back, revealed through the curve of her arm as she drew. Her legs were twisted beneath her. Light was illuminating from the ballroom, and she even noted the wax melting down the side of the wall onto the stair next to her. In small calligraphy wisps on the tiled floor below the stairs, he'd written _Toujours Pur_.

"Mother!" Narcissa called, pressing the journal to her chest.

She was light on her feet as she moved across the hall. She opened her mother's bedroom. She was sitting upright against the over large headboard, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She softly murmured words as she read.

"Mother," she repeated, slightly out of breath.

She released the journal and showed her the drawing. Druella pulled the journal to her lap and examined the figure of her daughter. She closed it after a moment and couldn't hide her smile. "It is as I thought, my little bird," she announced, handing her the journal back.

"What does it mean?" she asked, running her fingers down the soft lines of the staircase.

Druella folded her book closed and placed it on her father's pillow. "It means he's curious," she said. "He's discovered something about you that he thinks no one else knows, and he drew this to tell you that you have something in common. Men love being privileged to women. It is luck that he fancies your hobby as well."

Narcissa nodded, matter of fact. "What is the next step?"

"Nothing," Druella responded smartly, "You continue drawing. Let me see at the end of the week. If something piques my interest, I will show Ophelia. We will keep him distant so that he grows insatiable to know more about you."

"Is he actually interested?" she asked, pursing her lips.

Druella smiled warmly. "Sweet girl. He memorized the angle in which your hair fell. He sat with you in silence for over an hour. The boy is interested."

She left her mother's room with a soft pink blush, her journal against her chest. The desire to draw something for him and send it to him was overwhelming, but she trusted her mother's judgment. She knew that he was an objective, that he was a means to an end, but she couldn't help but be curious about the boy whom everyone said had little personality. Who drew her with maddeningly accurate detail, and whom liked her childish drawings of rabbits best.


	4. 4

"Magic happens when

you do not give up,

even though you want to.

The universe falls in love with a

stubborn heart."

JM Storm

FALL

The steam rose from the train and lurched into motion. Narcissa braced herself against the wall to keep herself from falling over. She walked down the raucous hallway and dodged the rowdy students reuniting from the summer. Her hair was held back partially with two pearl adorned hair combs on either side of her head. She was fully changed into her robes after a quick step into the loo to change. She went to her compartment and opened the door. Mara was fully changed as well, immersed in a novel about the history of Gringott's. Their trunks were stowed above their heads. Narcissa had seven other trunks in the storage carriage at the back of the train. She sat across from Mara and pulled out her journal and quill. She wasn't sure what to draw yet, so she leaned against the wall and watched the tuffs of clouds pass. It grew cloudier the closer to Hogwarts they went, and soon it was raining, and the tiny pattering against the window lulled the both of them into a comfortable silence. Narcissa drew Mara reading, her dark hair curled over her shoulders. She scribbled her furrowed brow and pursed lips from deep concentration. She neatly etched the spine of the novel with the title. She drew Mara, lying down across the bench with her ankles crossed against the wall.

The door slid open. The both of them looked up. Mara straightened and sat up, moving her legs quickly to the floor. It was her brother, luckily, who came in with candy that he threw at her. He closed the door and squished himself beside his younger sister.

"Why don't you go to _your_ compartment?" Mara complained, elbowing him hard in the ribs so he would move over.

"Lucius is doing patrols," he replied, shrugging, "And I'm tired of watching the others play chess. It's mind numbing."

"And you presume watching your sister read is a better form of entertainment?" Narcissa asked, raising her eyebrows.

Theo leaned forward on his knees and grinned at her. "I figured the great Narcissa Black could entertain me somehow."

"Euuuugh!" Mara kicked at his leg, "Get over yourself."

"I'm drawing her," Narcissa said, turning the journal over so that he could see. Mara curiously looked over; she hadn't been aware of what Narcissa was doing. "That's the most entertainment I'm afraid I can offer at the moment."

Theo switched to her bench and scooted closer to her to look. "Well, go on, I want to see what you make of the wretched little thing I call Sister."

Mara glared. She sank back across the bench and buried herself in her book, however. Narcissa waited a few moments before her face returned to the similar expression as before—meaning Mara was deep in thought—and then she started smoothing the lines across her face and shading.

"You're really good," Theo said.

"Thank you," Narcissa murmured, glancing up from her journal to Mara and back again.

She was quiet for five or so minutes before Theo yawned loudly and stretched his arm along the back of the bench. "I figure for my graduation present, I'm going to go to the World Cup this year."

Mara looked over at him, annoyed.

"Gee," he replied, shifting in his seat, jostling Narcissa's hand. She smeared the ink across Mara's ankle. She looked up and she and Mara exchanged annoyed expressions. "Oh—sorry, Cissy."

Narcissa bit her lip and tried to fix the mistake. "It's fine," she muttered. It wasn't perfect. She shaded in the line of ink and tried to mask it, to perhaps make it look like part of the bench, but she could still see it no matter how hard she tried.

"I guess I could go to the Cup or maybe a vacation," he thought out loud, "Although, I'll probably be engaged already…so I might have to go to my wedding instead. Oi. That's a bummer."

Mara sighed heavily. He bumped Narcissa's elbow, and she bit her lip to keep from lashing out at him. She let the ink drip from her quill into the ink well and then she screwed the cap back on and shut the journal.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, "Finished already? I didn't see."

"I'm not feeling very…inspired at the moment," she said.

Mara snickered behind her novel.

"What?" Theo asked.

Narcissa opened to her mouth to tell him to sod off, but then the door opened. Lucius pulled the door open and all thoughts of mouthing off to Theo disappeared. Mara started and sat up again, forcing herself into the smallest corner of the bench nearest the window.

"Patrol over?" Theo asked him.

He nodded and slipped into the seat next to Mara. "Yes. Pardon me. The other compartment was full."

"This is Narcissa Black," Theo said, motioning to her, "And you've seen my sister a thousand times."

Lucius looked at Mara without recognition. He nodded to her. Mara cut her eyes to Narcissa. She understood the meaning and smiled wryly. His eyes fell on her journal in her lap.

"I've had the luxury of meeting Narcissa," he said, lifting his eyes from her lap to her eyes.

"Eh?" Theo asked, "When?"

"This summer," Narcissa answered, "Diagon Alley, especially, when Mara tried to duel a vampire."

"You were _there_ ," Mara retorted to her brother.

"Oh," he replied.

"Growing forgetful in your old age, Theodore," Lucius quipped.

"Ha, ha," he said, "You're still older."

"And yet intrinsically superior in every way," Lucius said, "Curious, how that seems to happen."

Mara was surprised by the show of personality. So was Narcissa. They exchanged glances. He was ordinarily _so_ serious about everything. Narcissa wondered if Theo brought him out of his shell some. Certainly, Abraham Nott was incapable of that feet since he was more stoic than Lucius. She wasn't sure she had ever heard him whisper, let alone string together a sentence.

"I play Quidditch," Theo said, "Superior strength, better reflexes. I'm like a coiled-up cat just waiting to snatch at something."

"Is _this_ what boys converse about ordinarily?" Narcissa interjected, "Here we young women are, foolishly believing there is an ounce of wit or philosophy in our counterparts, when all that truly occurs is quite a bit of posturing, ruffling feathers like birds."

Mara laughed. "I forget you have two elder sisters. Theo is very enthusiastic about nurturing his own ego. He never shuts up about it."

"True," Lucius added.

Theo scoffed. "I'm thoroughly capable of deep conversation beyond my own great talents. It's just that my talents are so wildly celebrated and cannot help but be talked about at length."

"The air is fraught with your humility," Narcissa replied, "of this I can be sure."

Theo glared at her playfully. "What d'you think, Lucius? Should I go to the World Cup or go on a holiday after graduation?"

Lucius crossed his leg over his knee and sat back against the bench. "I think you'll be on a holiday. Whether or not you will enjoy it is another matter."

"Oh, right," Theo muttered.

A shadow of sadness crossed his features for a moment, and then he shook himself of it. "Well, maybe not," he said hopefully.

Lucius looked incredibly skeptical. "I would wager your proposal will come about by December, if not earlier."

Theo's ears reddened. He was a stocky boy with wide shoulders, but he was still such a child. He blundered through social cues and didn't pick up on the nuances of people. She felt for him. He was going to be forced into adulthood in the most jarring way possible. They all were, but she knew for Theo it would be particularly difficult.

"This turned dark rather quickly," Mara said, frowning, "But I'm probably going to be immediately after you, Theo."

His nostrils flared protectively when she said that. She was only fourteen, but she was right. Her parents wouldn't want to waste much time after they found someone for Theo. The quicker they could secure the both of them meant the more time they had to do other things.

Narcissa shifted closer to the wall. Theo was taking up most of the bench with his wide frame and his arm draped over the back of the seat. "My sisters will go first," she said, "I have that small window of grace, I suppose. It won't last long."

Andromeda wouldn't stand for it. She knew that was coming, and then it would drop upon her shoulders quite immediately. She knew that woman. Druella didn't lose steam, not even if she had to blast a daughter off of the family portrait.

"I was supposed to choose already," Lucius said.

The compartment was silent. The word _choose_ hung in the air, heavy, and neither one of them knew what that felt like. He was supposed to _choose_. None of them knew what that felt like. It seemed like a great luxury.

"What stopped you?" Mara asked, the first one to break the silence.

"I—" he stopped and deliberated before he added, "I couldn't."

She thought of him standing on the balcony overlooking the garden, staring at the tree. She saw the agonized expression that crossed his features when he looked at her drawing of it. She wondered how it felt when he redid the drawing and made it perfect. If he felt hollow from the looming symbol of his doomed future. He couldn't fall in love when he was terrified.

"You get to just pick anyone, though," Theo said, dumbstruck. He had probably never considered Lucius' side before, as his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white. "You could pick anyone. You could take my sister if you wanted, no one could say anything. _Holy shit_ you literally get your pick of the litter. Lucius. Seriously? Just pick the best looking one."

"I will carve my eyes out if by some unfortunate fate I get stuck with you, Theodore," Narcissa retorted.

She forced a crack in the heavy awkwardness in the room and laughter lightened the mood.

"I can't imagine even _your_ mother being so cruel," Mara said, snorting through peals of laughter.

"Hey!" Theo objected.

Narcissa elbowed Theo affectionately.

"I'm going back to where I'm appreciated," he announced, and stood up. He opened the door and flounced out dramatically to the other compartment where his friends were.

Mara looked over at Narcissa and smirked. Narcissa shook her head slightly, trying to communicate to her to _not_ do what she knew she was about to do, but Mara stood up.

"Excuse me, I need to…" Mara didn't know what to say. She looked at Narcissa, who glared hard at her for what she was about to do. "check on my luggage." She opened the door and slid it shut. Lucius put his hand over his mouth to try and shield the smile he was fighting to suppress. Narcissa heaved a raspy laugh out of her chest and then they both started laughing.

"Clearly, neither one of them display acute social finesse," Narcissa said, sighing.

"Mmm," he agreed. "A Parkinson trait, to be sure. Have you met Pearl?"

Narcissa groaned. Pearl Parkinson was Mara's older cousin, one of the girls in Bellatrix's group. She wasn't particularly likeable to Narcissa, because she flaunted her ego rather like Theodore, without the humorous affect.

"Yes," she said.

Lucius cradled his face in his hands. "The _worst_ ," he murmured.

"I forget she is in your year," she remarked, "You've had to deal with her much longer."

"I've almost taken points from Slytherin for every time I've caught her after curfew in an empty classroom," he said.

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. She understood the implication, but she knew nothing about the illicit interactions of Pearl Parkinson. Moreover, she was interested in the fact that he said he patrolled when Andy was clearly annoyed by the fact that he didn't at all. Perhaps he absconded to empty classrooms himself in the night.

"You are very interesting, Lucius Malfoy," Narcissa announced.

"Oh?" he asked.

She flipped open her journal and thumped to the drawing he had done of her on the staircase. She showed him. "And you fixed my tree," she added.

"Technically, it's mine," Lucius said, sliding across the bench to sit in front of her.

Their knees were suddenly touching as he looked at the drawing of her.

"I hope you don't mind," he said.

"On the contrary," she said, "I am very fond of the detail."

"The candle," he said, tracing his finger along the wax dripping down the wall with a smile.

"I didn't know you were an artist," she said, as he took the journal from her and started turning the pages to see what she had added since that night. She didn't disappoint him—since then her mother had been grooming her, she drew more so that she would happen upon him and she would have more to show him.

He stopped to look at the canopy of forest trees she drew in front of a gurgling brook. "Yes," he admitted, "It's a secret very few know."

"So is mine," she said, leaning on her knees to peer at the journal herself.

She wondered what he saw when he looked at them. She saw her home, her life, splashed across the page in intricate lines and shades. She saw love there, when she drew her sisters, Maxie, or Mara.

"You'll keep it that way?" he asked, taking her quill from her lap and dipping it into the inkwell. He turned to a blank page.

She nodded her head and swallowed nervously. "Of course," she said.

An orchard came to life across the two pages, ripened with the sweetest looking apples. Birds nestled in their leaves, bees flew across the blossoms of early morning spring heathers. He drew this place with such fever, with precise memory. This was a place that he loved, she could see it as she watched him draw it. A feeling of peace crossed his features.

She watched him and waited until he finished before speaking, "Where is this?" she asked.

"The orchard behind my home," he replied, dropping her quill.

"It's incredible," she said, taking in every detail of the leaves.

He poised the point of view to see one tree up close and the rest of the orchard unfolded before the drawing behind it. This was perhaps the entrance.

"You must have a really good memory," she said, "I'm not very good at drawing from memory. Well, you saw that from the tree."

"You did well, though," he said.

"I've only looked at it my entire life, though, and I still messed it up!" she replied, laughing.

He was surprised by that remark. "Have you?" he asked.

"Well, yes," she said, tilting her head curiously, "hasn't everyone?"

"Perhaps," he said.

But no, she saw by the way he said it, no one had ever brought up the tree in his garden before. "You don't romanticize it the way it's meant to be," she said.

Lucius smiled. "It doesn't have the same meaning, to be sure. It certainly intends to send a particular message, though."

It was a looming symbol of his freedom, slowly ticking way until he was a name on a rock. She understood. The Blacks were hardly romantic and weren't terribly sentimental in their homes, but the message was there, eternal. For what it was worth, Narcissa understood the underlying message his parents relayed to him. They were giving him a small window to find his soulmate, and if he didn't, one would be chosen for him. Love was the consolation prize they tried to bestow upon their son as he walked into the exact same fate as everyone before him and thereafter.

The train squelched. The brakes were pulled. She felt it start to shudder to a stop. Lucius returned the journal to her and the quill, and she stowed them securely. She stood up to fetch her trunk from the compartment above their heads. The train shook and stopped, pushing her against Lucius' chest. He caught her in his arms reflexively, one arm wrapped securely around her waist. The lights flickered above their heads, and she was frozen, fixatedly looking into his eyes, and he looked back into hers.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Don't be," she replied, transfixed.

His eyes were so intensely grey, swirling atmospheres all on their own. She pulled away, shaking herself and coming to her senses. Her journal had fallen onto the bench behind him and was flattened. She picked it up and smoothed the pages of parchment. He pulled her trunk down from the compartment for her. She pulled the trunk to the door and nervously turned to look over her shoulder at him before she opened it.

"Do you have to help the First Years with the other Prefects?" she asked him, pushing open the door.

A roar of sound hit both of their ears as the other students pulled all of their belongings and dragged them into the corridor.

He smiled softly. "No."

Mara and Theo held open the door to a horseless carriage for them. She slipped in and sat across from Theo, and Lucius sat in front of Mara, who was twisting the sleeves of her robes with clear overexcitement.

"How was your luggage?" Narcissa asked, smiling pointedly.

Mara blushed. "Ah, well, you know, they actually were askew. It was good that I checked."

"I'm so glad to hear that you took care of your _luggage_ ," Narcissa replied, leaning forward and staring at her.

Lucius made a feeble attempt at covering his laughter with a cough, while Theo looked between the two of them, perplexed.

"I think the real question is, how is your luggage?" Mara replied.

"It's safe and sound, as it was supposed to be," she said.

Hogwarts loomed above them and she heard some commotion outside of the carriage. Narcissa stood up and opened the door. She braced her knee on the inside wall by Mara and leaned the rest of her body out of the carriage. Fireworks exploded over the west tower, showering colors of blue and green, maroon and yellow.

"Narcissa, come back in before you tumble out!" Mara exclaimed with a laugh, taking hold of her arm just in case.

She could smell the lake and the crisp air creeping in to welcome the fall, and she felt something inside of her sing, a small thrill for the unknown adventures of the year went through her. Suddenly, someone ripped her arm back into the carriage and her body, and Theo stood, looking worried and angry.

"You nearly fell," he said, almost shoving her into her seat.

"I didn't," she argued.

She climbed the cliffs in the forest without support. She wasn't exactly frail. Her hands were calloused from climbing and gardening. Narcissa knew she had nothing to worry about. She glowered over at Theo for wrenching her back.

The carriage came to the front entrance and stopped. Lucius slipped out and opened the door. He helped Mara from the carriage gently with her palm in his. She blushed from the gesture. When Narcissa came to the door, he held his hand up. She lightly placed her fingers against his palm for balance but stepped out of the carriage on her own.

"Thank you," she said.

"Of course," he replied, and slammed the door on Theo.

The girls giggled appreciatively as Theo opened the door and grimaced.

"Prat!" he retorted to Lucius.

"Careful," he said, "I _am_ your Prefect."

Narcissa pulled her trunk behind her as they went to the front doors. The double oak doors were open, flames exploding from the iron torches. She dropped her trunk off with the others and went to the feast. The Slytherin table was electric with conversation, no doubt gossip over the Sacred parties that they hadn't been able to share due to their overbearing parents. Pearl Parkinson was standing over two boys, laughing haughtily at something they were saying. Narcissa's sisters were sitting on opposite ends of the table with different people. Andy was twisted around, chatting away with a Ravenclaw.

She and Mara sat side by side on one end of the table, and to her surprise, Lucius and Theo sat opposite of them. Mara made a face. Her brother was a second parent to her; it didn't surprise Narcissa that she didn't particularly want him around.

Theo sighed heavily as the First Years entered from the side door, looking positively terrified. "My future wife is probably in that mix," he said angrily, "I'm going to end up stuck with an eleven-year-old bride, I just know it."

"Don't fret too much. Your parents know that with your maturity level, you require someone _much_ older," Narcissa quipped.

He bit his lip to keep from responding, though she didn't imagine he had anything particularly clever to say. They listened to the beginning of the year speeches from Headmaster Dumbledore and clapped loudly for the new Slytherins that joined their table. They looked small and terribly young; she'd forgotten she arrived looking much the same.

"Pearl lives for attention," Mara muttered, shaking her head, "I barely feel like we are cousins."

"Tell me about it," Narcissa replied, thinking of her Aunt Walburga and the constant arguments over the estate. That side hardly felt like family to her.

The evening waned, and her sister stood up at the end of the table.

"First Years! Form a line!" she shouted.

They watched her lead the First Years out of the room, and the rest of the table followed behind. Lucius met up with Narcissa and walked at her side, Mara on the other. She looked at Mara and raised her eyebrows.

"Why don't you lead the First Years?" Narcissa asked him.

"I didn't go to the meeting earlier on the train," he said, "so I don't know the password."

"It must be a major character flaw of yours to abscond from important meetings," she commented, "I remember your birthday."

He winced.

"Twice," she reminded him sternly, "You stepped away twice."

"One was for a very valiant cause," he argued.

She turned to Mara. "He thought my ankle was broken because it was bruised."

"Oh, that happens every summer," she replied, "It looks like our feet are smashed by Bludgers sometimes with the horrid swelling."

Lucius looked thoroughly disgusted by the mental image. "Is it simply the result of your partner's poor dancing skills?" he asked.

"That and overexertion," Narcissa replied, "You gentleman have the upper hand in the design of dance shoes."

They came to the end of the corridor and listened to Andy explain the password to the First Years ("Salazar!") and their curfew. The door slid open and she walked the new students through the threshold first before the rest of the students were allowed to enter.

Narcissa loved the gloomy grey aesthetic of the room, lake water churning against the circular windows. The antique green couches and lowly lit fireplaces were welcoming. She shivered from the sudden drop in temperature. Rich slate grey rugs with intricate patterns broke apart the flow of cold marble stone, so shiny they looked wet.

"Lucius, do tell me why you are entertaining my dear sister and not your fanciful men of little conversation!" Bellatrix exclaimed, sidling over from the staircase, looking poised and feline. "Well, Theodore is the exception to the quiet standard."

"I'm afraid I'm not doing much of the entertaining," he admitted, "Mara and Narcissa are great conversationalists."

Bellatrix smiled. "I see. Did my dear Cissy tell you that her birthday is three days before your wonderful Masquerade party?"

"She failed to mention that particular detail," he said.

Mara shot Narcissa a questioning look. She tried to slink away, but Narcissa caught her by the arm and pulled her back.

"Always gracious and humble, my dear baby sister," she replied, "I'm happy to see you've met her acquaintance. I had to see for myself when I saw the two of you walking in and commend your choice in acquaintance. I may be biased."

"Bias is acceptable in this instance, I should think," he replied.

"Good!" she replied, "The Seventh years are gathering. You must come and let my sister unpack."

"Goodnight," Narcissa said to him.

She squeezed her sister's arm as she walked by to the staircase. She and Mara quickly went up the stairs and walked to the Fifth-Year dorm. Mara opened the door and glanced around—they were alone. The other girls were chattering downstairs before bed.

" _What_ was that?" Mara asked, "that was so _formal_. It's understood that we drop those measures at Hogwarts. Right? Have they changed it? _No_!"

Narcissa shook her head and sat on the bed. "That was Bellatrix giving him permission in lieu of my father, obviously, to be friends. My mother must have told her before we left. It's an outdated gesture since we lifted the etiquette rules at Hogwarts, but Lucius understood its meaning."

It saved him from calling her Miss Black in front of her sisters or others outside of her established circle and permitted them to walk with another to classes or study together, if they wished. No one used it anymore, but practically everyone knew what it meant.

Mara heaved herself onto her chosen bed and bounced on it to make sure it was the perfect fit. Narcissa pulled the hangings of the bed next to it and took a seat.

"So," she said, "What did the two of you talk to about on the train when I left?"

Narcissa pursed her lips. "That's just the thing. We didn't speak that much."

"Oh," she replied, frowning, "That can't be good…"

But she didn't know how to explain to her dearest friend, the obsessive wordsmith, that she felt a thousand conversations pass between the two of them without speaking a single word, and she could not begin to adequately define the feeling she was left with when she thought of him.


	5. 5

"You will always find

the answer in your heart

where it has been waiting

since long before the question."

Atticus

Narcissa brushed her hair over her shoulder in the floor length mirror by the door. She was up before every other girl but Mara, who was writing on the end of her bed, her legs crossed. She placed the brush down on the shelf near the mirror, where some of the other girls left notes or small books to remind them to take before class on their way out of the room. There were small notes already on the middle shelf, but she didn't bother reading any of them. She heard footsteps down the hall by the door, and she paid them no mind until they stopped suddenly, just in front of the door. The others she'd heard walked on by to the main part of the common room, most likely to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. A note dropped, and the figure slid it underneath the door, and then she heard the footsteps echo down the hall. She picked up the piece of parchment and flipped it open, wondering which girl it was for.

To her complete surprise, it was meant for her. She moved away from the door and sat at the small round table in the corner where a lantern was burning so that she could see the details better. It was a drawing of her on one side of the page, dressed in a ball gown. The bodice of her dress was detailed with silver ink that sparkled in the light. Her eyes were smoky, inked in tiny drops of crystalline blue, and her chin was pointed and tilted upward. The gown faded in wisps of smoke that trailed to the other side of the page. The trail of the gown made a path to a dark forest, giant pine trees jutted up to the edge of the parchment. The shading was immaculate, casting a dark atmosphere over the forest, full of unknowns and danger. There were even detailed ferns on the edge of the forest line and ivy crawling up tree trunks. Each place her eyes fell upon was heavily crafted with tiny pieces of detail. The page seemed to come alive at her. It was mysterious and wanting.

"Mara," she whispered, tapping on the table for her to join her.

She unfolded her legs and snapped her journal shut and walked across the room to Narcissa, who was sitting at the table speechless. Mara took the piece of parchment and gasped slightly at the image in front of her.

"Oh," she breathed, "This captures your likeness perfectly. And…well, your aesthetic."

She nodded. "What does it mean?"

Mara bit her lip and handed Narcissa the drawing back. "Words are my expertise. This is your realm."

Narcissa looked up at her and sighed exasperatedly. She had no idea what to do with this. He drew in her journal, sure, but she didn't think he would drop a note under the door for her on the first day of classes. And she didn't understand what the implication was. There was only one person who would know exactly to do. Narcissa checked the time quickly—she would have to skip breakfast, but she would be able to get a note to her mother. She found parchment in her drawer and scribbled her a note. She didn't include the drawing—she wanted to keep it.

"How do I describe what he drew to my mother?" she asked Mara.

She took the quill from Narcissa's hand and quickly wrote the description of it. As Mara worked, she hid the drawing in her end table drawer and pulled her bag over her shoulder. When she was done, Narcissa folded the letter over and pocketed it, then scurried from the room.

There were a few students in the common room, but she was hurrying out so quickly that she did not see which ones, nor did they call out to her to stop. She hurried up the dungeon steps and crossed the main foyer to the staircases. She only hoped that one of the staircases didn't suddenly move or vanish on her, as they were want to do. Narcissa sprinted up the stairs to the Owlery. She opened the door with such a flourish that it flustered the owls, and some flew away in fear. Quickly, she attached the letter to the owl and sent it off. Her lungs were burning in her chest and her body was electric, alive, and aching. She walked slowly down the hall, trying to gain her composure.

Breakfast was over by the time she made it to the Great Hall, and there were only a few stragglers. Andy was the only one left at the table, and she sat at the end with pieces of parchment in front of her. Narcissa approached the table, still slightly out of breath.

"Where the hell were you?" she asked, noting her disheveled appearance and narrowing her eyes suspiciously. She picked up a piece of parchment and handed it to Narcissa. "Your schedule."

She took it from her sister. "I was writing to Mum. And thank you," she said.

"Don't thank me," Andy replied tersely at the mention of their mother, "You have Potions first."

Narcissa cringed. Slughorn was a difficult professor to bare because he loved his club so much—his trophies of students he liked for one reason or another. She was not one of these students, because while she was good at Potions, it wasn't one of her gifts, and she shied away from interacting with him. Besides, Narcissa wasn't quite good at anything she was willing to show him, and her skillset was not quite as interesting as some of his members.

She walked to the classroom and immediately inhaled the various smells of herbs and ingredients and the hint of some murky, disgusting explosion that maybe hadn't quite aired over the summer. She found a seat and opened her notes. She rolled up her sleeves to the wrist and flipped through the textbook idly while she waited. Professor Slughorn was precisely on time—he walked in behind Mara, whom he tried to engage, but she smiled and made a beeline for Narcissa.

"Oh, thank god," she whispered as she took a seat, and he didn't pursue, "I thought I was about to say something that would make me sound remarkable."

Narcissa couldn't help but laugh.

"Welcome back, students!" he said, "Let's not pretend we need an introduction. Our first potion of the year is going to be one of your trickier ones, and certainly one you will need at the end of the years during your OWLS."

Mara whitened considerably at the mention of the exams, but Narcissa was unbothered by it. Their scores did not matter—they would never work or have need for them. She flipped the pages to the potion he indicated (the Draught of Peace) and examined the instructions carefully. It was a very methodical potion, but not one she found exceptionally hard if she paid attention enough. Slughorn droned on about a student that had brewed the most perfect Draught of Peace he'd ever lain eyes upon and Narcissa scowled and put her chin in her palm. She wanted to, most of all, just start brewing the damn thing.

She twisted her fingers together as she read through the book. She wished she had her mother here to tell her what to do about Lucius. She wasn't sure what he wanted from her. He drew her face like he had it mapped out in his head with near perfection but being in someone's head as very different from being in someone's heart, and she wasn't sure how to reconcile the difference.

 _Add syrup of hellebore until the potion turns turquoise._

"Miss Black!" Slughorn shouted.

She looked up from her textbook to find multiple pairs of head swiveled toward her, including Professor Slughorn's.

"I realize it is a very trying time for a young girl on her first day," he said, laughing lightly, "what with there being so many handsome boys around…"

The boys in the room snickered.

Narcissa inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring angrily. Mara touched her arm to calm her down. She softly muttered: _No_. No. Don't correct him and remind him that many of his elite group were young women that did not, in fact, have issues studying despite the numerous distractions of _boys_ around them. No, don't correct him about her daydreaming when she was reading the text to gain the knowledge he was too busy talking out of his _ass_ to instruct them on. She wasn't Bellatrix or Andromeda. She was cool. She inhaled again. Her heart was a forest. Her body was the sea. Her soul was an ecosystem.

"I am sorry, Professor," she replied instead.

"Very well, let's just pay attention from now on," he replied cheerfully, "And one point to Slytherin for being so well-mannered!"

Narcissa gripped the desk until her knuckles were white and her palm was exploding in pain.

She was the first outside of the classroom and she shoved the door open angrily, holding her hand against her chest. Her cheeks were flushed red. Slughorn had blathered on for so long that they hadn't had time to brew anything.

Mara followed her out nervously.

"I've never seen you so angry," she said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she murmured, turning away from her and walking down the corridor.

Her next class was Herbology, a small refuge from the class and Slughorn. She opened the double oak doors and breathed in the air, stark with a cool breeze. The leaves were slowly turning and dropping. She crunched through several leaves on her way to the greenhouses. As she rounded the corner, she saw a halo of white blonde hair—Lucius, coming out of the seventh-year greenhouse, his hair down around his shoulders and blowing behind him in the mild wind. She caught him mid-laugh, his head thrown back over something Candra Zabini said.

She walked to the fifth-year greenhouse and waited for Professor Sprout to unlock it. She felt much more normal outside in the pale morning sun than she did trapped below layers and layers of stone in the dungeon. The common room could be a haven but being in the dungeons could be hell. A soft ache appeared above her left eye and thudded painfully from stress.

Lucius and Candra were unlikely friends to her, one so well-mannered and the other rather blunt. She watched their receding figures walk back to the castle. She supposed those comparisons could be drawn to herself and Mara, who lacked adept social skills too.

Professor Sprout appeared, swinging the keys to the greenhouse in her right hand.

"Good morning, Narcissa," she greeted her warmly, "I better see you in my N.E.W.T. classes next year."

"Of course," she replied, smiling shyly, "I will do my best."

"How did your wolfsbane grow this year?" she asked, pulling open the door with effort. "Better than last year with the fertilizer I recommended, eh?"

She was a small, round woman with as much enthusiasm for Herbology as Narcissa. She hardly cared for her appearance, as her hair was pulled back constantly, her hands calloused from years of gardening. Her robes always smelled of earth and fertilizer. Narcissa liked her immensely.

"It was a perfect fit for them," she replied, "I gave much of it to Mara again, of course, but I dried some of it just in case."

It was their annual tradition that, on August 29th, the two exchanged gifts for the anniversary of their friendship. Narcissa always brought her a massive vase of wolfsbane (though it had practical properties, Mara loved it for its appearance) and Mara typically bought her some sort of gemstone jewelry or small geodes. This year, she received a moonstone bracelet.

Gryffindors filed in behind them as she stood off to the side of the door with the professor.

"It was a _perfect_ summer," she agreed, "I grew all sorts of things that tried to kill me!"

Narcissa shook her head. The two differed some. She preferred the mundane herbs and flowers, but Professor Sprout loved the more magical ones, the near beasts, that made gardening as much of a sport as hunting.

"I envy your passion for adventure," she remarked, "I'm afraid I prefer a stress-free approach still."

Sprout clapped Narcissa on the shoulder. "That's because you're young yet, and your life _is_ an adventure. Just wait until you're older and you have nothing better to do."

She found her seat as Professor Sprout launched into the lecture. Unlike Slughorn, she preferred a more interactive method, and put them immediately work mixing fertilizer into a massive garden box for the fanged geranium bulbs. Narcissa worked the till without gloves, falling into a soft motion of reverie, feeling lighter than she had hours before. She didn't mind the dirt as much as the other students, who muttered complaints about being dirty under their breath. A sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead, and she pulled her hair up in a tight ponytail, letting her hair fall down her back smoothly and out of the way.

Narcissa missed her home suddenly. She missed looking up from the pots of flowers and herbs and not seeing Maxie, lying on the slate courtyard floor and panting happily. She missed her mother, despite how annoying she could be. Her sister sleeping on the cot in the hallway, Andy when she was in a better mood, taking her to Diagon Alley. Her family wouldn't be like that after a while, they would be married off, in their own mansions and perhaps with their own children. She wasn't ready to let go of her childhood yet.

She sighed heavily as she left the greenhouse, feeling light, almost happy, and quite sad at the same time. As she trudged up the steps, an owl flew at her. She squinted, watching it appear as a dot near the Owlery tower, until it was close enough that she could outline its feathers. The owl swooped over her and dropped an orange envelope on her feed, addressed to _Cissy Black, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – URGENT_. She pulled the envelope flap and took the letter out.

 _Dear Cissy,_

 _Your description of the image was extremely detailed, and I don't think I needed that clear of a mental image. I know what you look like. I wasn't aware you were so descriptive. One might assume he is either trying to impress you with his skill or challenging you to draw something better. Either mean the same thing: he thinks about you independently of you being in the room and wants to continue talking to you. Remember that you are only interesting to him so long as you aren't like everyone else. Keep this strange connection with him and draw more things for him. Try to do more than just foliage. I will see you in October for the Masquerade, so write back your idea for costuming. Also, a birthday list for gifts._

 _Do not get expelled for doing or saying something stupid._

 _Do not to run wild in the Forbidden Forest._

 _Tell your sisters to do the same._

 _M_

Of the many times she wrote her mother and received a response, not once would her mother sign the letter with "Mum" or "Mother", nor did she use her given name. For as long as she could remember, it was simply "M". She folded the letter and walked up the steps back into the castle. It was nearing lunchtime, but she needed to shower after sweating in the greenhouses, so she walked into the dungeons. She said the password and stepped in through the door. The common room was empty except for a few sixth years who had a free period. She chose a clean set of uniforms and her toiletry bag and went into the showers. Each dorm in the Slytherin house had their own set of showers, though she'd heard this wasn't the case for some of the other houses. For the fifth years, they had three shower stalls.

She turned the taps on and waited for the glass to steam before she pulled her uniform off and stepped in. She showered quickly. Her stomach was rumbling since she missed breakfast. She scrubbed the dirt from under her fingernails. When she finished, she shut the tap off. Narcissa didn't particularly like showers or baths. She did enjoy swimming in lakes or streams, but she was methodical in bathing. Bellatrix loved to soak in a bath for hours, but she was admittedly keener on relaxation than she was.

She tucked a towel under her arms and sectioned her hair in the mirror in front of her. She wrapped the hair around her wand and dried the strands with a circular tap of her wand. She had such thick hair that she had to do it in four sections, but it was the quickest method—taking nearly twenty seconds to be completely dry. She flipped her wand to the side and pulled it through her hair again, ironing it straight, her hair falling in a sheen around her head. She didn't care much after the rigorous start of her day and she pulled it back in a high ponytail at the top of her head. After, she dressed in her uniform and quickly pocketed her wand.

The Great Hall was buzzing with chatter as soon as she entered. Hazy, puffy clouds loomed over the ceiling and slowly floated across. Maps of thin cirrus clouds swathed high above the Slytherin table as she sat down for lunch at the end of the table, opposite of where her sister Bella was with her posse of girls. Mara approached the table not long after Narcissa, and she sat across from her with a loud sigh. She was the only Slytherin that didn't take Herbology this year—Dumbledore had given her special permission to study Ancient Runes, allowing her to additionally add Arithmancy to her class roster. Mara wasn't very fond of any courses requiring her to be outdoors, though Narcissa quite fancied Herbology, obviously.

"I lost ten points to Slytherin for being late to Ancient Runes," she said, frowning deeply, "A Gryffindor split open my bag in the middle of the hallway as I was walking down a corridor, and put a jinx on the books to fly out of my hand if I touched them."

"Who?" Narcissa asked, narrowing her eyes.

Mara turned to look across the hall at the table, "End of the table, brown hair."

Without responding, Narcissa stood up and walked away from the table.

"Cissy, wait, you don't have to—" Mara called out, but it was too late.

She walked to the Gryffindor table and leaned against the edge of the table, facing the boy. He was a Fourth Year, with dark brown hair and eyes, a long nose. He had unremarkable features until he looked up at her and sneered.

"What d'you want, scum?" he shot.

"I was just wondering," Narcissa said lightly, "what daft filth rips open girls' bags on their way to class?"

Mara scurried across the hall and stood behind her nervously.

He laughed loudly. "What're you going to do about it?"

"Hey, I've got an idea of what you can do, Black," the boy next to him said, "Why don't you roll that serpent's tongue all over my—"

"I was wondering what sort would do such a thing," she interrupted without a flinch, "and then I came to offer a small bit advice. Maybe one should not insult a girl whose family is more powerful than you can even imagine and then arrive to lunch expecting their food and drink not to be…tampered."

The boys looked at their goblets and plates. The brown-haired Gryffindor reddened and puffed like a fish.

"What did you do?" he demanded.

"It's not what _I_ did," she replied innocently, "I was just offering solid advice. Mr. Parkinson is a _renowned_ potions master, I would mind myself if I were you."

"I'm not taking advice from a dried up, bleached out cunt like you, Slytherin," the boy spat, "and if you don't leave this table, I'll catch you myself in a corridor and you'll find more than your bag ripped open."

Narcissa shrugged her shoulders, her small, dangerous smile frozen in place. She leaned further across the table to him. "Terrorize my friend again and your family will receive pieces of you, bit by bit, until they can finally salvage enough of you to give you a proper burial."

He shoved her hard away from the table, a vein in his forehead pulsing. Mara caught her and balanced her on her feet. Within seconds, he was yanked from the bench entirely by Candra Zabini, his wand pressed against the pulsing of his throat. A sweep of boys blocked the teacher's table from viewing. Nott and Theo cracked their knuckles menacingly.

"Look what we've stumbled upon," a cold voice said from behind them.

Narcissa turned and watched Lucius slink over to the Gryffindor boy. An expression of real fear crossed the boy's features.

"A coward that puts his hands on women," Bellatrix said, stepping in between the boys and squaring her shoulders, wand at the ready.

"Release him, Candra," Andromeda announced, sweeping between the group of Slytherins clustered around the end of the Gryffindor table. They were shoulders above her height—each boy looked at her angrily. She sighed exasperatedly when she saw that Bellatrix was there too.

"I'm handling it," Lucius snapped.

"Clearly," she replied, "You were going to pummel him. But, lest you forget, it is _my_ sister he harmed."

"I'm fine," Narcissa answered, crossing her arms, "He cost us ten points with the stunt he pulled on Mara."

Lucius turned back to the boy, who wriggled and thrashed against Candra, but couldn't escape. He started to pull his wand on him, but Andromeda wrenched his hand away and pulled him to the side with all of her strength.

"Slughorn," she hissed.

Just in time, Lucius pocketed his wand and Candra released the boy from his grip.

"What's going on?" Slughorn asked, "Oh, Lucius! Hello. You missed last night's meeting, but that's all right. It was just the first one, certainly not the last one!"

He bellowed and thumped Lucius on the back. He grimaced.

"Professor, they're threatening me," the Gryffindor spat.

"Schoolyard rivalry, no doubt," Slughorn chortled, "You're quite safe with my Prefects here, I can assure you of that. Well then, gents, do take it out on the Quidditch field then? I should think that's a better place for all of that testosterone, no? Clear off, now, all of you. Enjoy the rest of your lunch."

Narcissa mimed drinking and choking from poison at the Gryffindor boy behind Slughorn's back, and then sauntered back with Mara, laughing.

"You nearly started a riot," Andromeda said, grabbing her arm hard and whispering in her ear.

"He started it," Narcissa shot back.

Andromeda pulled her back from the group and nodded at Mara to keep moving. "You have made an alliance with a dangerous man. The protection that offers you is immense, but don't displace your anger. If Lucius sees you want someone dealt with…well, his quiet group of boys could easily become violent thugs. That Gryffindor boy is disgusting, to be sure, but maybe not deserving of the full wrath of Lucius Malfoy."

"He wouldn't have been under scrutiny if he had not shoved me," she argued, "Lucius and Candra didn't appear until that point."

Andy sighed heavily. "Be careful, Cissy."

Narcissa rolled her eyes and moved to the table. Lucius, Theo, and Candra were sitting with Mara. Her seat at the end of the table was saved. She slipped into it next to Lucius and winked at Mara, who was blushing, red hot, as Candra was sitting next to her.

"Never a dull moment with you around," Mara said, glaring at Narcissa, but she appreciated the gesture. The only really brazen things Mara did were in the stories she wrote.

"No one should bother you," she replied simply.

"I doubt there was any real need for us," Candra joked, leaning into the table, his shoulder brushing against Mara's, whose face somehow turned a deeper shade of red. "Not with Narcissa Black around."

"True, this one doesn't need saving," Lucius commented.

She felt his fingers touch hers from beneath the table, and she let her palm open. His fingers slipped around hers and he let their hands fall to the space on the bench between them. Narcissa stopped breathing.


	6. 6

"Some days

I am more wolf

than woman

and I am still learning

how to stop apologising

for my wild."

Nikita Gill

Her cloak snagged against a thorn bush as she roamed the trees in the fading autumn light. The families of the Sacred were pulled home for the Masquerade. Being at home rejuvenated her and made her feel more like herself. She crunched through the leaves with Maxie in tow, her heart lightly thrilling through her. She climbed the cliff to overlook the manor and the sprawling, perfect lawns, currently faded brown. The countryside was dotted with brown and red and green, the evergreens vibrant against the fading backdrop of nature, as they slowly sank into winter. Narcissa was cold, as she arranged her cloaks and sat on the ground, but she didn't mind it.

"Cissy! Seriously? You left me!" Mara's voice huffed and puffed as her head popped over the clearing. She staggered to the cliff's edge and sat down next to her best friend. She inhaled sharply at the beauty sprawled before them. "Merlin, what a sight."

"Mmmhm," she replied, "I told you it would be worth it."

Maxie trotted around behind them, sniffing at the ground and digging when she thought she found a mole.

"It's nice to be away from everything," Mara admitted, "Everything seems…clearer. Especially since Saturday is going to be so busy."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes, my mother is beside herself over the Masquerade."

From the manor, she watched a light in one of the windows flicker on and off three times. She sighed heavily. "That's our signal," she said, standing up. Her mother forbade them from being out past dark.

It was dark by the time they spilled out from the forest clearing into the long field north of the manor. They sloshed through the muddy field, pushing stalks of grass higher than their heads out of the way. Maxie sniffed and ran ahead of them, surveying for signs of danger. Both girls were dirty and covered in thorns and mud by the time they made it to the door. The light on the porch bathed them in a warm glow, and Mara's teeth were chattering as they opened the door.

They trudged up to her bedroom and peeled the cold clothes off of them and fell into bed. Narcissa lay awake longer, listening to Mara and Maxie's snores. She turned on her side. Tomorrow was her birthday, but she didn't feel any particular way about turning fifteen. She tossed and turned, anxious, but over what, she wasn't sure.

She stood up and padded out of her bedroom to go down the cold corridor toward the end of the hall toward the bathroom for water, when she heard soft murmurs from Bellatrix's room across from hers. A tiny slit of light fell into the hall from the crack in the door. Her sister was a deep sleeper. It shocked her that she wasn't in bed already. Narcissa slowly crept to the door and peered in—she had to bite back the gasp of surprise.

Bellatrix was naked, sitting at the end of her bedframe, her legs circled around a man slowly thrusting against her. Her hands were wound up in dark, silky hair and she whimpered soft moans into his shoulder as she bit down on his skin to hold herself back.

Narcissa darted away from the door and went down the hall, her heart thundering in her chest. Who was that man? He was too old looking to be a student at Hogwarts. She opened the bathroom door and turned the faucet on. She cupped her hands and drank the water she gathered quickly, and then splashed her face.

As she snuck back down the hallway, she stopped in front of her door. Bella's bedroom was closed, the lights out. She went back to bed, her head swirling full of confusion. Everyone had their secrets, but this one was incredible. Narcissa's was drawing and wandering the forest without a corset—her sister had taken a lover right under their parents' noses.

She didn't tell Mara when the girls woke the next morning for breakfast. Their peace was short lived by Druella, who ordered them to prepare for Narcissa's birthday party that evening. They spent the better part of the morning, hair adorned with pearls and gemstones, and gowns trailing behind them, waiting for the evening to come. They sat in Cygnus's study and played chess as he yelled into the fireplace at her uncle.

"NOT ONE OF US POISONED MINISTER LEACH!" he bellowed.

Mara raised her eyebrows, her lips held in a tight, thin line. "Well, no one _here_ did," she muttered.

Rumors were swirling that Abraxas Malfoy poisoned the first Muggle-Born Minister, but there was no proof, and it was not the first time one of the Sacred were targeted for so called blood crimes.

By evening, Cygnus was hoarse and disgruntled, but he was back in good spirits by the time the drinks were passed around. He made an impassioned speech about Narcissa's birthday, and she watched as the gifts stacked along the table, teetering dangerously to the side. She was buzzed from champagne, guests thrusting the thin flutes in her hand after downing each of them. Her card was filled to the brim with potential suitors, and for once, they were vying for _her_ attention instead of the other way around, each one more anxious to squeeze in a dance with the birthday girl. Candra Zabini started the first dance. He was swift and fox like, with bronze skin and deep brown eyes. He was rumored to have a bloodlust and a head full of savagery, but his dancing skills were gracious and gentle.

"Miss Black," he said, dipping into a bow, "It's an honor to be the first on your momentous day."

She wrapped her fingers around his palm and felt his hand at her waist. "Mr. Zabini, it's a pleasure."

He turned her around the ballroom expertly. "I'm curious," he said, spinning her around the floor and pulling her back to him, "You're not soft in the head, but you don't join Slughorn's club. Why?"

"The answer I should give you is that I am deeply humbled, and therefore don't consider myself worthy," she remarked, "But if I should be so candid. I like my solitude, and I don't appreciate being someone's trophy."

"And Mara?" he asked, "is she…remarkable?"

It was lucky that he spun her away from him, for she couldn't contain her shocked expression. When she twirled back into his arms, she was again composed.

"Mara is one of the most remarkable witches of this generation, Mr. Zabini," she stated, "Of this I can be sure."

He smiled, but he asked her no more about Mara Parkinson, her brilliant best friend, whom she saw across the room dancing with Lucius. When the music ended, Candra Zabini dropped into a deep, respectful bow, and Narcissa held her tongue as she curtseyed. If only he had an inkling of the kind of magic her best friend could inspire. If only she could explain to him that she had the entire wizarding world eating from the palm of her hand merely from the stories she could expertly spin. There was strength of body and mind, and then there were the creatives, those who made galaxies and transcended their physical limitations to bare the human soul.

She took a break from dancing, feeling dizzy from the champagne and the spinning. The other partners left the dance floor as well. The music switched to a different cadence, nothing worth dancing to.

Her mother rounded upon her within a few moments and seized her by the arm. They pretended to stroll elegantly along the refreshment table.

"Rumor has it that a French noble girl is in the running for Lucius' hand," she whispered furiously, "Ophelia spoke about it only last week. Lucius is apparently smitten and writing her nearly every day. Find the letters. Learn what he likes about her and emulate it so that we may destroy any thoughts of her."

The color drained from Narcissa's face. Lucius had never mentioned—but of course, he wouldn't.

"Of course, Mother," she replied swiftly, swallowing the thick, sweet champagne easing back up her throat.

"Men are fickle," she hissed, "Become a thousand different women at once for him if you must. Just _do_ it."

She released Narcissa, who was badly shaken from the news. She found Mara by the banquet table, drinking water. As Narcissa approached, she plucked a goblet of wine and downed it quickly. Her skin was flushed and the bright iron lanterns swinging from the ceilings made it warm.

"Cissy," Mara greeted, "Whatever is the matter?"

"Not here," she said, taking another goblet of wine and her best friend's arm, and dragging her off.

They walked out to the courtyard and Narcissa walked to the empty flower boxes, the garden she planted over the summer was empty now, replaced by decorative pumpkins and twinkling lights.

"My mother told me that Lucius is writing to a girl in France," she said in a hushed whisper.

Mara raised her eyebrows. "When does he have the time? He's so busy drawing your portrait and memorizing your schedule to catch you at every meal. _Narcissa, may I sit with you_? _Narcissa, I've saved you the best spot in front of the fire if you want to study_. Please."

"Being friends is one thing," she said, thinking of Bellatrix and the strange man last night in their bedroom. That man didn't think of her sister as a friend.

Perhaps it was the second glass of wine she downed in the matter of moments, or the multitude of champagne she had earlier, but she was nearly in tears. Mara saw her eyes watering, and she touched both of her shoulders.

"Cissy," she murmured comfortingly, "He's yours. You're the complete package. Some unknown potential in a different country has nothing on a girl that sees him every single day. You have that on your side."

"It is not," she said, squaring her shoulders and sniffing, wiping at her eyelids quickly, "that I am worried about not _winning_ him, as if he's some prize."

"Then what is it?" she asked.

A Black never showed weakness. They were always pure. No emotion. They were not subjective to semantics or romantic gestures. The only love they knew was expressed in loyalty and devotion to their own kind. She knew that.

"Nothing," she said, turning her head. She looked up at the night sky, an exploding chasm of brilliant freckled stars.

" _Narcissa_ ," Mara pulled her back to her, "It's _me_. You can tell me."

"I fear that I might…" she stopped, pressed her lips into a firm line. "I fear that _he_ might be more…"

Mara finally understood. "Oh, Cissy. Oh no."

The music struck again. Both girls left the courtyard and walked back into the ballroom.

"Tell no one," Narcissa said, clasping her wrist.

As if she needed to ever say the words. Mara nodded her head. Love was the greatest weakness one could ever possess. She knew that. She twisted the silver chain curled around her index finger. The tiny chain ran up past her elbow to a metal arm cuff, which glittered with black diamonds and sapphires. An early birthday gift from her dearest friend.

Her next dance was with Abraham Nott, a sudden relief from the plucky conversationalist Zabini. She morosely crossed the dance floor with him, and as he took her in his arms, she found he was most disarming.

"I know so little of you, Miss Black," he said, his voice was raspy, perhaps from never using it. "Tell me about yourself."

Narcissa was disgruntled that he decided to begin speaking for the first time at this very moment. "There isn't that much to know, I'm afraid," she said, "I'm the youngest daughter of Cygnus Black, of course."

"A noble pedigree for a most exquisite young woman," he replied, "but I wondered what your favorite subjects were? Mine is unquestionable Arithmancy, I prefer mathematical precision. The numbers will never lie to you."

Narcissa was stunned as he turned her, his arm crossed over her stomach. He twisted her back around to face him.

"Herbology," she answered, "Followed by Charms and then Potions, albeit I could use a little lesslecture and a little more practical theory."

"You like the greenhouses?" he asked, "Curious. You look like the…very clean sort."

"A girl would during her birthday party," she replied.

Nott turned her around by the courtyard door, and she longed to suddenly flee from him and run, run, run out of the door and across the lawn.

"Of course," he replied, his cheeks pink, "Forgive me, Narcissa, I'm not great at banter the way that Lucius is."

She raised her eyebrows. Clearly, he disregarded etiquette. Her name stood out to her, glaring. A suitor should have called her Miss Black—clearly, he didn't view her as one, or he hadn't enough time away from Hogwarts to reacclimate.

"Give yourself more credit," she said, "Lucius is mediocre at best."

He chuckled, but she felt quite moody at the mention of his name. Her dear friend, Lucius Malfoy, who drew her likeness and slid the parchment under the door, who ditched his own birthday party to ice her ankle. Her eyes searched the ballroom and found him with Pearl Parkinson, and he was the perfect gentleman, guiding her around the dance floor. Narcissa knew that he didn't like her very much—she wondered how many knew that secret or if anything he'd told her was unique to her ears. The idea that it might not be bothered her immensely.

The music ended, and Abraham bowed to her, and before she could catch her breath, the next suitor was at his side, sinking into a bow, taking her hand and whisking her around the floor. Again and again the dance partners came, but she hardly recalled any of them and she barely spoke. She couldn't bring herself to sink into a proper curtsey.

The last dance was starting after a small interlude, and she strode across the floor and right out of the doors into the foyer. She pulled her card out of her hidden dress pocket and looked to see who was next (and therefore last)—her heart sank when she saw that it was Lucius. Her mother wanted to force him to watch her dance with everyone but him, to entice jealousy. Narcissa huffed. She'd seen him all night, sparingly, he hardly looked bothered by it.

She slipped into her mother's darkened private lounge. The fireplace burst into emerald flames as she crossed the floor. Her mother played piano, and had a large concerto piece, white, as a center piece of the room. Narcissa could hardly play. She leaned against the edge, her chin in her palm, and absently plucked at the keys with no real melody. She liked the way the sound echoed long after she had pushed the keys down, reverberating.

Time passed, and she didn't notice until the door opened quietly, and she was startled by the intrusion. His hair was effervescent in the darkened room, and she knew it was him, even though his features were obscured in shadows. She swallowed hard. Words were clawing their way up her throat, but she couldn't say any of them.

"This revenge for my birthday?" he asked lightly.

She forogt he left her stranded on his birthday. The fire had died down, perhaps believing no one was in the room, but as he walked in front of it, the flames roared again. He leaned his arm against the piano.

"Do you play?" he asked when she didn't respond.

"Good gracious, no," she replied, shuddering.

He laughed. When she didn't, he tilted his head and studied her. "Your birthday is supposed to be a happy moment. But you aren't."

She shook her head. "No, I'm quite over celebrating my birth."

He moved from the side of the piano and sat down on the bench with her. "Is it because none of your suitors understand the nuances of music?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Allow me to provide a proper example," he said.

He played horrifically, truly, unable to even hit a proper chord. But he played with his chin head up, as if he were a savant. But without his eyes on the keys, he couldn't even touch upon the correct note for the song he was butchering—a rendition of Happy Birthday, barely recognizable. It dissolved Narcissa into a quiet fit of giggles, leaning over the wooden edge of the piano and covering her face. He ended the song with an out of tune smash of fingers, and she couldn't face him without chortling.

" _That_ is how one plays to impress a girl of your breed and caliber, Miss Black," he retorted, "Lest you ever forget."

"I don't believe the pulsing ache in my head now will ever let me," she said.

He stood up and held out his hand. "I know it is your birthday, and you should be able to do whatever you would like, but I _am_ the last on your card, and I did dance with you after all the trouble I put you through."

"If I dance with you, will you promise to _never_ play the piano again?" she asked, standing up.

"I'll consider it," he replied, and she placed her hand in his. As he pulled her from the room and back into the ballroom, he said, "But no promises."

Her mother was fuming on the side of the dance floor until she saw who brought her back from wherever she'd been. Lucius took her hand and pulled her in by the waist. He circled her entire waist, pulling her closer than any of her dance partners ever had. It was nearing inappropriate. When her mother clapped her hands for the music to start, he repositioned their arms to a waltz.

He went for a torpedo of complex steps and a rendition of a Viennese waltz. They cleared the dance floor within moments after they spun by the other dancers, and he lifted her, her upper body dripping elegantly over his shoulder, her ankle suspended in the air—he spun and spun and spun her, dropped her to the ground, found their formation, and they danced. She saw flashes of stunned guests. She felt half-drunk and dizzy. The music thundered to a close and he dipped her across his knee, his face inches from hers. Her chest was heaving, her eyes wide in surprise.

The crowd clapped suddenly, and he pulled her back to her feet. He held her hand and bowed to the group, and she slipped into a curtsey on instinct. He turned and took her fingers in his and kissed her knuckles.

"Happy Birthday, Miss Black," he said, and left her on the dance floor.

She was so stunned that her mother had to guide her away so that the others could go back to dancing and check off the last person on their card.

Narcissa's hair hung, wet, around her shoulders as she opened her gifts on the floor at breakfast the next morning. Druella paced in front of her.

"That dance was a _message_ , Cissy," she said, snapping her fingers, "A message to anyone that would ever think to court you. I'm sure of it."

She sighed heavily. "Mother, I honestly think he was just trying to cheer me up. He thought I was upset."

"Were you?" she snapped.

"I—yes, this is a lot of pressure," she said, but then seeing her mother's narrowed eyes, she added, "Nothing I cannot handle. A momentary weakness."

"That worked greatly in our favor," Druella murmured, "Very, very well indeed."

Each family presented a gift for her and she had some from her inner circle. Mara's gift was the metal cuff she wore last evening. Bellatrix gifted her a bottle of Draught of Peace and an assorted mix of expensive perfumes. Andromeda gave her a full series of a non-fiction novels about the evolution of werewolves, and her parents purchased multitudes of rare, expensive seeds from Belgium. From "Maxie", she received the ornate lace dress she was wearing to the Malfoy's Masquerade and a collection of tiny Mandrake sprouts. A plain black box was hidden beneath the rest, smaller than the others. She checked the tag, but there wasn't a name on it. She pulled the bow off and opened the box.

She pulled a long silvery chain from the box. It was long enough that the jewel attach to it would touch her navel. It was subtle in its beauty, but it sparkled in the early morning light, a crystalline blue tear drop gemstone. As she placed it in her hand to inspect it, the color turned dark, forest green. She stared in awe, turning it in different directions. Each different way the light hit it completely turned the color. As her mother approached her to inspect the necklace, they watched it turn from navy blue to deep red.

"I haven't seen one of those in ages," she said, watching it turn violet.

"What is it?" Narcissa asked.

"Well, alexandrite is what we called it," Druella said, picking up the necklace. The chain was delicate white gold. "This one is transfigured to turn deeper colors, though…tricky magic, this took a very long time to perfect."

She handed it back to Narcissa, who put the chain around her neck and watched the colors pool and bruise in shapes as the hues faded and burst into the next one.

"Who is it from?" Druella asked.

Narcissa shrugged and picked up the box. She pulled the contents apart to see if there was a clue. "No card," she said.

"Lucius, perhaps," her mother said, "Did he get you anything that he marked?"

Narcissa went through the remaining gifts. Theo had given her a novel on practical uses of fungi and other plants. In the pile, was a black box with silver ribbon like the small one containing the necklace. She pulled it over and opened the tag.

"The Malfoys," she announced, "Similar box and ribbon. They probably purchased them at the same time."

She untied the ribbon and opened the box. She pulled the softest winter cloak she had ever felt. It was slate gray and the hood was lined with dark brown fox fur. When she pressed it to her chest, it smelled like the Malfoy Manor, like the hickory wood fireplaces and the sweet flowery aroma from the bursting flower vases Ophelia magicked to bloom throughout the year in her lounge. Her name was stitched along the chest in delicate, tiny grey stitches. The clasps were made with oak, dark stained buttons. She stood up and pulled the cloak around her shoulders and clasped it. It was a perfect fit, draping elegantly around her shoulders to the floor.

"Mother, this is nicer than anything the others brought!" she said, twirling around in it to show it off.

Druella smiled appreciatively. "To be sure. This is a good sign."

Loaded up for the morning with presents and treats, Narcissa spent the good part of the morning putting the gifts away in her bedroom. She displayed the cloak on the hook by her door, to remind her to wear it out of the house for the Masquerade. She wrote thank you cards to the families and individuals that brought her gifts, scrawling her name in loopy, large letters.

Rain pelted the carriage as they turned up the driveway to the Malfoy Manor. Lightning streaked behind one of the towers as they stepped out, heavily costumed. Bellatrix was a flush of scarlet, hair wild down her back, a black cloak around her bare shoulders. Her mask was heavily decorated with glittering diamonds in the shape of a lion's face. Andromeda was a snowy owl in a full white gown with hundreds of pearls. Her shoulders were bare except for a strap down the back of her arm connecting her sleeves, which billowed out behind her like plumage when she lifted her arms to her sides.

Narcissa was dressed entirely in black, lace ivy stitches intricately woven across her body. She was covered in long sleeves, the dress rose up her back to her neck, but plunged deeply in the front in a v-shape to her hips. The tear drop alexandrite was sparkling white in the darkness of the night. Her face was covered with wisps of tiny stitches of lace, so tiny that from far away, both her dress and mask seemed to be smoke, slowly curling around her body. Umbrellas exploded as they stepped outside of the carriage and floated through the air all the way to the door to keep them from soaking.

The Malfoy Manor was heavily decorated for Halloween. Ravens ruffled their feathers in iron bird cages suspended from the ceiling in the foyer. Pumpkins and skulls were littered across the table, candles floated above their heads. The first strings of music began as the ballroom door opened. The room was heavy, full of fog, making it difficult to discern the other guests from far away. The great paned windows towering two stories high were open, curtains pulled aside. Rain pelted the windows and Narcissa watched in awe as the darkened clouds rolled on, lit up by white hot lightning.

Abraxas and Ophelia were masked, sitting on high backed chairs at the front of the ballroom, surveying the guests as they mingled. Narcissa and Andromeda slowly walked around the tables, admiring the various food and drinks. She took pumpkin juice from a goblet and drank, savoring the sweetness and the hints of cinnamon.

"Say anything you want about the Malfoys," Andromeda said, biting into a strawberry, "They'll always throw the best parties."

The Halloween Masquerade belonged to them. If Lucius' birthday was a display of perfect summer innocence, the Masquerade was the opposite—dark, gritty, perfecting the season of harvest and death.

"Agreed," Narcissa said, watching a skull float through the air and land in someone's massive headpiece.

Transfigured skeletons held trays full of firewhisky and wine around the hall. Cauldrons exploded colors of acid green and pink. The thunder rolled on. The beauty of the Masquerade was that there were no cards, no scheduled dance partners. She crossed her arms and stalked the edges of the dance floor, staring in wonder at the costuming. She watched in amazement as Andromeda took a dance partner, her wing span spread across her back.

She stood in front of the massive windows with her hand clasped in front of her. The alexandrite caught every color from a thousand angles. Abraxas stood up from his seat and pulled out his wand—he whipped his wand in a high arch—lightning flew from it and slammed in the center of the dance floor and dance partners scattered. Suddenly red scarves fluttered from where the lightning struck. The scarves spun into masked women, who danced in mesmerizing circles. Their masks were white, the features contorted in shock and terror. Their dresses were gossamer and flew around their bodies as if they were swimming.

Abraxas raised his wand again—black sparks flew across the crowd, fluttering into confetti. The masked women dropped, disappearing completely, leaving only red scarves behind. With a flick of his wrist, the scarves melted beneath the floors entirely. The music struck again, and the couples took each other's arms again.

Someone bumped into her shoulder hard as they walked by her. She turned, the masked girl was in gold. She looked at Narcissa and then disappeared through the crowd again, her arm resting in a man's elbow. She searched the crowd, trying to find a hint of costuming Lucius might have chosen, or perhaps his white blonde hair, but it was much too dark to see. She did not see Mara either, though they kept both their garments a secret from one another to not spoil the fun.

She drank as she watched the dancers. A friendly seeming skeleton stood near her with aged Cheval Blanc red wine and the glass instantly refilled. Without meaning to, she was quite drunk suddenly, her body humming with untapped energy. She slid across the hall, searching for a dance partner. Her head was an opus of music and sound as she tapped a man on the shoulder and offered her hand. He guided her out onto the dance floor and spun her around. She stepped too close, letting him circle her waist with his arms, pinning her body to his. When he dipped her, she felt his breath against her rib cage, her partially exposed chest. She danced with four men after that, each one privileged to hold her at her waist, her brain exploding synapses of constellations, tongue too heavy to protest.

A man interrupted her dance. Without missing a step, he spun her into his arms away from the other man. He was immediately familiar, and a mask couldn't hide his identity from her. She felt the electricity between them the second he touched her hand. Her heart beat hard against her chest, quick as a rabbit's, and he danced with her body as though it were an old friend. She felt herself sigh into his shoulder, leaning her body into his. He turned her, and as she pressed against his body, she felt his hand run up her spine to her hip. He touched the chain of her necklace up all the way up to her neck, and his fingers clasped her neck softly for a second, until he trailed them across her collar bone and over her shoulder. He twisted her around, their masks inches from one another. She couldn't shake the feeling of his fingers on her skin.

Lightning shattered the sky in a brilliant white light, and lit up the entire ballroom, illuminating the jewel at her waist and her skin, pale against the black lace. He was in black, his mask matching with tiny black sapphires sewn along the edges. She could see his grey eyes frame perfectly behind the mask, intense and swirling. The sky lit up again as thunder boomed loudly over the music.

The candles went out, leaving the ballroom pitch black. High pitched screams echoed across the ballroom, followed by laughter. She heard his heart beating in the dark, as if the rest of the world slipped away, and all that was left was the cadence of their breathing. She was left in front of him, star struck and wanting.

Then the light burst back into high flames and the hall cheered. It was tradition, after all, for this marked the revealing. Narcissa curtseyed deeply to Lucius. As she straightened, she swept her mask from her face, and looked up to find Lucius had done the same. His hair was tied behind him with a neat black ribbon.

Abraxas pulled his heavy iron mask off and with a flick of his wand, transfigured it into metal birds that flew across the hall. He stepped down from the throne stairs and held his wand to his throat.

"Fate brings us to the ones we are most drawn to," he said, "Our bodies are such temporary vessels, but the soul is ancient, and the soul knows what it needs and what it is meant for, no matter what decorations we cover it in."

Narcissa glanced over at Lucius wearily, who rolled his eyes playfully. He leaned in to Narcissa's ear. He spent six weeks practicing this speech," he murmured.

She laughed softly.

"My guests, you are my family," he boomed, "And I will not spoil the fun anymore. Drink, dance, enjoy the macabre illusions we have created for you. I hope you have learned something about yourselves, and whom you are meant for tonight!"

A haunting violin struck again, and with a swirl of his cloak, Abraxas disappeared from the middle of the floor. A rush of applause from the guests erupted, and what few were still wearing masks pulled them off and revealed their faces to their dance partners.

"Where _has_ he gone?" she asked pursing her lips playfully.

"Ah, just outside in the hall, probably planning some other grand entrance," he answered, "My father has a flair for dramatics."

"He gives the same speeches every year," she said.

Lucius sighed. He took her by the arm and pulled her toward the courtyard doors. "Let's ditch before they notice," he said, and opened the French paned doors.


	7. 7

"Ask her what she craved and

she'd get a little frantic

about things like books, the

woods, music. Plants and the

seasons.

Also, freedom."

Charles Frazier

The rain ceased only a few minutes before, and she could still see the occasional droplet hit the stone veranda. The hedgerows were decorated with pumpkins and bats, small twinkling lights that helped guests navigate the maze. They were the only ones brave enough to venture out into the cold and the rain. Narcissa felt as though she were immediately plunged in a bath of ice, but Lucius asked her to come with him, and her mother would kill her if she refused over something as trivial as hypothermia.

They were quiet as they walked the maze. They reached the center and Narcissa shivered as she looked up at the tree, stretched high above them. The trunk was sturdy and solid, everlasting. She looked up at the bare branches and watched the very tops lightly sway with the wind. When she looked down, she saw Lucius staring at the stones.

"' _I have loved you in every conceivable life I've ever lived'_ ," Narcissa quoted the stone from memory, "Your father is such a romantic, believing in fate and ancient souls."

Lucius pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He believes that in life there are constant changing roads. Choose one and the other disappears, but the routes always lead to you to the same path in the end—what you deserve, what you are meant to be, who you are meant to love."

He knelt down by the stones and she could see his eyes dart across the quote again. She wondered how many times he had read it, and how many times it filled him with fear. The stone dared anyone to fall in love, to do anything otherwise was failure.

Narcissa studied him for a long moment before speaking. "You're not convinced he's right."

He straightened and got to his feet. "What makes you think that, Miss Black?" He said her name playfully, almost haughty.

"If you believed him you wouldn't be so bothered by it," she remarked, "The night of your birthday, you were standing on the balcony staring at this very spot. And I saw your reaction to the tree when you saw it in my journal."

She tilted her head and circled him, her body still humming from the wine.

"The trouble is," she said, stopping in front of him, "You can't decide if you're a logician or a romantic. Combative philosophies."

"You are correct in your observations," he said, smiling, "What's your solution to the problem?"

"Look at it from another angle," she replied.

She unceremoniously kicked her heels off and stepped over the hedge to the tree trunk. She pulled her dress to her thighs and grabbed one of the ancient, gnarled branches. He stared in shock as she swung her arms back and forth until she caught momentum, then flipped her legs over a slightly higher branch and pulled herself up into the tree.

"I think you've had far too much to drink, you're going to fall," Lucius said, biting his lip nervously. He stepped closer to the tree. "Narcissa—maybe you should come down."

"Maybe _you_ should come up!" she said, as she stood up on the branch and climbed closer to the trunk, then up another branch.

"Narcissa, please come down," he pleaded, "I'm worried you'll fall."

"Lucius Malfoy," Narcissa said, balancing her feet on a thicker branch. She put her hands on her hips and looked down at him defiantly. "You either come up here, or you don't. The result is going to be the same—I'm getting to the highest point until the branches are too thin to support me."

"You're mad!" he called, laughing in wonder as she climbed higher, higher. Her necklace glittered at him from below.

She slipped but caught herself on a branch and pulled herself up. She found the highest branch she could sit on before the limbs were thin and spindly. From her view point, she was nearly as high as his balcony. Her body was humming. She perhaps wouldn't have had the courage to climb a six-hundred-year-old ancestral family tree if it weren't for how much she'd been drinking, but she didn't let it bother her.

"Narcissa, you've made it, come back down," he urged.

"I won't come down until you come up!" she called down.

He sighed heavily in defeat and nodded. "All right, all right. I'll come up."

She peered down the tree as he stepped over the hedge and clambered up the tree. He was much taller than her, and a bit more capable in reaching the limbs. He reached her point within a few moments and he sat next to her on the branch. When he reached her, his relief rushed out of him as a sigh.

"There, now you've conquered your destiny," she said airily, looking through the high paned windows at all of the dancers. "You're free."

"Is this what freedom feels like?" he asked her.

"This is the closest we can get," she replied.

They sat, watching the ballroom twinkle with a high display of aristocracy, and though Narcissa spent quite a bit of her life looking from the outside in, Lucius was never privy to do so, and he seemed to see it—really see it—for the vast illusion created, illuminated before them. Heavy lace and diamonds glittered through the hallway, bright colors bled together with dark black suits. And the dancing, spinning, swirling of dresses and feet.

Lucius looked away from the windows suddenly and stared at his lap, biting his lip. He finally looked back up again.

"You're not like anyone else," he said, "Other girls—well, their dresses and hair are more important than feeling anything."

Narcissa shrugged her shoulders. "In their defense, they aren't supposed to think of anything else. By the standards set for them, they're achieving exactly what they were supposed to. You can hardly blame them."

"What makes the difference?" he asked, "What makes you fearless in the pursuit to climb trees and cliffs? What makes you draw forests and _see_ things differently than other girls?" He smiled, perhaps thinking of her journal. It was the age-old question, usually iterated with less awe and more repulsiveness.

"I want more," Narcissa said, "That's as simple as complex as that. I want more than corsets and suitors, more than marriage and babies. My fate is sealed, I know that. I'm staring down and ticking away the days until I'm a wife first and myself second. But I want to shove as much life in there as possible before it's too late."

He listened to her before he responded, quietly, "Can I tell you something?"

"Yes," she replied.

"I'm terrified," he remarked, "Of everything. Can't move forward for the fear of it, and I certainly can't go back. I don't know how to move."

"Eventually," she said, turning to look at him, "You're just going to have to pluck up the courage and decide. She's either the one or she isn't. But you're stuck on this idea that you can decide, that you can fall in love, and that's a nice idea, but what if you fell in love with a Muggle? Your parents wouldn't allow it. There are caveats to all of this. You can choose a wife, but she must not be taller than you, or she must have mastered seventeen musical instruments and eight languages before the age of ten. The rules are still there. Nothing has changed. If your parents loathed your choice, they would override it."

"Comforting," he retorted.

"It's reality," she said softly, touching his knee with her hand, "And sometimes you need to hear it to make a really difficult decision."

He looked at her for a long moment, and she thought perhaps she offended him. Her mother would be furious; she should be pulling him in to her, culling his fears and assuaging them by becoming the perfect woman for him, constantly editing and erasing over parts of herself until there was nothing left of herself.

"Thank you," Lucius said, "for not taking every possible opportunity to manipulate me. Since I was announced in society, I haven't found a single person I could trust."

"Slytherins," she replied wryly, shrugging, "Can't live with them…"

She elbowed him playfully in the ribs. The lights in the ballroom flickered again, and they watched the guests retreat from the dance floor to socialize and say goodbye. "We should go," she said.

"Stay with me for just a little longer," he murmured, touching her hand with his. He slipped his fingers through hers, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

The adjustment back to Hogwarts was difficult. She had once again become accustomed to sleeping in her bed with Maxie, and the four poster bed in the girl's dorm seemed too lumpy and small. She woke that Monday morning, exhausted, but after showering and fixing her hair, she felt somewhat better. She waited until all of the other girls were out of the room, and it was just Mara.

"I need you to skip breakfast and help me with a task, of sorts," Narcissa said.

Mara yawned and stretched her arms above her head slowly. When she dropped her arms, she frowned. "There's hardly anything worth skipping breakfast for."

Narcissa smoothed the green comforter on her bed and glared at Mara disapprovingly. She sat down on her bed and stared at the tired looking girl across from her.

"When Druella Black tells you to sneak into the seventh year boy's dorm and find out who Lucius is writing to in France," she said sternly, "You skip breakfast."

" _Ugh_!" Mara sighed heavily, "Fine. I'll help."

They waited, watching the clock tick away on the morning hour. Finally, they were quite sure everyone left the common room for the morning. The girls darted down the stairs to the opposite staircase leading to the boy's dorms. Luckily, the years were posted on each door, so they didn't need to guess. Narcissa walked to the seventh year dorms and touched the door knob. She inhaled sharply and turned the knob.

There were Quidditch uniforms tossed over the back of the chair and table nearest the door, but it was tidy enough. Narcissa tucked her hair behind her ear; she wasn't even sure what bed belonged to Lucius.

Mara stopped at one of the beds and picked up a black journal. She flipped through it and screwed up her face after a moment in disgust and placed it back on the end table. Narcissa searched each bed; many of them weren't decorated with family portraits or personal effects, no doubt they were tucked beneath the bed or in the bedside drawer.

"Cissy," Mara murmured, and pointed to the far bed by one of the portal windows, the lake water churning, dark green depths.

She rounded upon the bed Mara stood in front of and raised her eyebrows curiously. The end table had a snake plant in a tiny pot. Narcissa pulled the hangings back so that she could sit on the bed. The end table drawer was unlocked, and she slid it open. A black journal was the first thing she saw, and she seized it. She opened the first page. An elaborate map of Diagon Alley splashed across the pages, adorned with his signature perfectly penciled in details. The buildings on the map were tiny replicas, drawn with such immaculate precision that they seemed to jump at her. It must have taken him forever. She flipped the pages—Hogsmeade Village. He had the Slytherin Common Room penciled in with each dorm defined. She saw her own name scribbled on her bed. She flipped through the pages more. He drew methodical drawings of plant cuttings or leaves. Some were dated for last year, or the year before that. The journal was personal to him, if he kept it around this long.

"Look at this," Mara said, finding a false bottom on the second drawer. Narcissa held her finger in the journal and closed it. Mara removed the false wooden bottom and pulled out stacks of letters and parchment.

"Here's one—his father suggesting Claire Meunier. Her father is French and her mother is English, the mother was an ambassador before she met her husband," she said, and dropped the letter. "Here are her letters."

Mara picked up the first introduction letter from Claire and began reading:

" _Monsieur Malfoy,_

 _My name is Claire Meunier, the eldest daughter of Otto Meunier. I am a sixteen year old pureblood witch from Lyons, France. I understand your mother is French also. Did she teach you French? I would love to teach you, if she did not. I am a gifted painter and musician, and I would love to hear about your creative accomplishments. I am an artist to my core, it is my life source. I look forward to meeting you._

 _Yours,_

 _Miss Meunier"_

"How do you pronounce her last name?" Narcissa asked, "It's sounds like a cat that has something stuck to the roof of its mouth and can't stop licking itself."

"Looking a little green at the collar there, Cissy," Mara remarked, smirking. "Here's her response to his letter, I guess he sent her one if there's a reply…

" _Monsieur Malfoy,_

 _Bonjour! I am delighted to have been graced with a response, and so quickly! My father was quite right about the promptness of a Malfoy, what a lovely trait to have. I have never met someone who was not found of the arts. I am sure our differences will make for interesting conversation—"_

"Wait, what?" Narcissa interrupted Mara's reading, "Not fond of the arts? He's an _artist_."

"Maybe he was gauging how she would react if he disagreed with her?" she suggested, "Anyway…

" _While I am indeed an accomplished artist, I find some time for Quidditch. I'm shocked your team is my favorite as well! Please tell me all about it in your response. I look forward to it."_

Narcissa wrinkled her nose. She flipped open the journal again to look through his sketches as Mara read each letter, which became more superfluous with each letter.

"He's started underlining in red ink where she's contradicting herself," Mara said, flipping the parchment over, "See, here she says she knows everything about the magical properties of fungi and collects mushrooms by her house nearly every day, and then in the next paragraph, she tells him she thinks the outdoors is frightening."

"He mentioned something like that at the Masquerade," Narcissa replied, "That he couldn't trust anyone to not manipulate him. Perhaps he meant her."

Mara shoved the letters back in the false bottom and closed the drawer. "I think we can determine Claire Meunier is _not_ in the running."

Narcissa turned to the back of the journal. She found rough sketches of the portrait he'd done of her. She watched it come to life, the realism and slow process of drawing her facial features until they were accurate. She turned the page and felt the small torn edges where the final copy should have been, but he'd ripped it out and given it to her. He drew still images of vials of potions. What must have been an image of his bedroom was next, with various plants stuffed into the window sills. The balcony door was thrust open, light falling across the floor in squares. She saw the tips of the branches from the trees beyond the balcony. What she saw, over and over in his drawings, was a repeated symbol of loneliness. Despite what Lucius said or did, his art was somehow still sad. Pristine, but sad. She closed the journal and put it back.

"We should go," Narcissa said, pulling the drawer open again to place the journal back inside.

"Wait," Mara said, sitting up from her knees and pulling out an envelope that was lodged toward the back of the drawer. She slowly pulled the crumpled envelope and slipped the parchment out of the envelope.

"Well," Narcissa said impatiently, as Mara read silently, "Go on then."

" _Lucius,_

 _This charade has gone on quite enough. You are out of time! This is not a decision we bestowed onto you to torture you; this is a gift. We have been as understanding as we can be given the situation. We have extended your announcement to the Masquerade Ball after you were unable to make your selection on your birthday. Now you ask for Christmas? I understand that with so many to choose from, you may be struggling. Make no mistake: you will choose, or your wife will be chosen for you. You have until December 25_ _th_ _. If you fail to give us a name, there will be severe consequences. And it won't be Narcissa Black, as keen on her friendship as you seem to be. If she is your choice, write us back and end all of this. If she is not, you have until Christmas._

 _Don't bother coming home if you don't have a name by then._

 _Malfoy."_

Narcissa inhaled sharply. "How can he do this?"

"That's a risk I wouldn't—couldn't—take," Mara remarked, putting the letter back.

They left the dorm just as quickly as they came. They grabbed their bags and left the common room to go to Potions.

"Why won't he just choose the path of least resistance? It sounds like he might get disinherited if he doesn't have someone picked out soon," Mara commented.

"I think he took his parents' advice to heart," she replied, pulling her blonde hair across her shoulder to keep it from snagging against the shoulder straps of her bag, "And I don't think he's ready for all of it. I mean, it's his final year in Hogwarts, and they're asking him to find his soulmate and pass his N.E.W.T.S."

They stopped in front of the classroom door. Breakfast must have just finished, because the door was still locked, and they were the only ones milling in the corridor. Mara furrowed her eyebrows as she thought.

"You know," she said, "I never understood why your mother is so determined to make you a Malfoy."

"I think she saw that there could be an opportunity, and she took it," Narcissa offered.

Mara didn't seem convinced, but she didn't respond. Instead, she mulled it over until Slughorn rounded the corner, whistling and spinning the classroom keys in his hands.

"Miss Black! Miss Parkinson! Sharp-eyed and ready to learn, no doubt," he said jovially.

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison.

They darted into their regular seats to wait for the rest of the students, and the hours passed by in a haze.

Narcissa was in the greenhouses first as well. She held her Herbology textbook in her arms as she stood outside of the doors. Professor Sprout and Lucius both exited from the seventh year greenhouse, side by side. The sun was shining brightly, and she had to squint to see them properly. They seemed to be arguing about something, or at least be insistent. Professor Sprout frowned and stopped midway to the fifth year greenhouse, frowning, but his lips moved rapidly. He seemed to assuage whatever convincing she needed, and he loped down the lawn with her to the next class.

"Malfoy, you had a perfect score on the exam, I don't understand why you think you need to _review_ a class from two years prior," Sprout argued as the two approached. She started when she saw Narcissa standing by the door. "Oh, Narcissa, it must be that time then. Good morning."

"Good morning, Professor," she replied, and then lifted her eyes coolly to Lucius, "Good morning, Lucius."

"It's just for the N.E.W.T.S, professor, I want to be well-prepared," he said.

Sprout unlocked the door and shoved it open. She nodded for Narcissa to slip through first, and she did. She walked to her stool and placed her bag on top of the table. Without asking for permission, she collected water in the container and began watering the blossoming fanged geraniums. She watered the tiny pot of Venomous Tentacula and the Screechsnap seedlings.

"And what precisely do you intend on doing with your perfect Herbology scores?" Sprout asked him, as Narcissa pretended to busy herself and not eavesdrop. "Certainly, you intend to use the skillset."

"I—I'm not sure," Lucius replied.

She sighed and waved her hand at him.

"You Malfoys are all the same," she said, "Just because you're independently wealthy…doesn't mean you can't still do something. You have a knack for the dangerous, lively ones like I do. Not many people are comfortable with that. Isn't that right, Narcissa?"

Narcissa, whose finger was just bitten by a geranium, cursed and whipped her hand back to her chest. She glared at the plant and squeezed tiny pinpricks of blood from her finger. "I'll keep the wolfsbane and basil, thank you very much," she replied, dropping the water can onto the table.

Lucius moved across the room and took her hand in his to inspect the injury carefully. He studied her hand longer than she thought he needed to, then tapped his wand to the palm of her hand and the flesh knitted itself back together. It was a tiny wound, barely enough to warrant a bandage.

"Are you sure it was review you begged for?" Sprout retorted, as the other students started to fill the room.

Lucius placed his bag down next to her and pulled a stool up next to her. Without looking at her, he said, "I assure you, I wanted to review the subjects one more time."

"Miss Black, if he bothers you, there's a box full of germaniums at your disposal," she said, smiling widely, "Feel free to reprimand him."

Lucius watched her as she delicately potted some of the blossoms that were ready to be moved into their own pots. She cut the leaves at a forty degree angle to encourage new offshoots and faster growth. He said nothing, but he stared intently as she worked, his chin in his palm.

"Why do you need a review?" she asked him after a while of companionable silence. She waited until the rest of the class started talking too, so that they weren't overheard.

"I don't remember anything, clearly," he announced flatly, "You're making me look like a fool. Why cut them at an angle?"

Narcissa looked up from the plant. "Because that's how the sprouts grow in. It encourages easier blooms, and we'll get twice the amount of leaves this way. What's the real reason you're here?"

He shrugged, crossing his arms over the table, and resting his head in his arms. "There's a Quidditch match this Friday," he said, "Slytherin and Ravenclaw."

Narcissa stopped and looked at him. His hair was down around his shoulders today, and he had an almost bored, tired expression upon his face. No doubt coming back to something he'd learned two years ago proved unchallenging, but he still hadn't told her what exactly it was he was doing here.

"What's wrong?" she asked, pushing her stool out behind her and standing in front of the table. She put the geraniums aside and pulled the box of Screechsnaps closer to her.

"Nothing," he murmured, "Well. About the Quidditch match..."

"Yes?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, "Lucius, just say it."

He sat up and looked at her finally. She suddenly realized he looked rather nervous about the whole thing. "Want to go with me?" he asked.

"All right," she replied, shrugging, "Why's the match so important to you all of a sudden? Do you even like Quidditch?"

"Everyone likes Quidditch," Lucius replied coolly, "In particular, I love Quidditch."

Narcissa suddenly had the feeling that he was lying. She thought of the letter from Claire, how he told her he wasn't an artist. She had an inkling he was testing her level of honesty with him. She sighed heavily.

"I don't like Quidditch," she replied, swirling her wand and neatly placing the soil she dropped on the table back into the garden boxes, "I can barely see what's happening, I don't understand why the Seeker even _exists_ when they hardly do any work at all besides catch a single, tiny snitch."

He raised his eyebrows. "You don't have to go with me."

"I like _going_ to matches because I like to watch everyone else," she said, "Which is why I go anytime Slytherin is playing."

They left the greenhouse after class was over. He walked by her side as they walked up the hill back to Hogwarts.

"So," she said, "What's the matter? Why did you ditch your other class to sit in mine?"

"Do you mind it terribly, Narcissa?" Lucius asked, "If I spend time with you?"

"No," Narcissa replied, suddenly turning pink, "I mean, I like spending time with you as well."

He smiled so brightly that butterflies erupted in her stomach, and she felt them there all day, long after they were apart.


	8. 8

"he placed his hands

on my mind

before reaching

for my waist

my hips

or my lips

he didn't call me

beautiful first

he called me

exquisite."

rupi kaur

WINTER

Narcissa returned from the showers with her hair still damp. She opened the girl's dorm and padded across the floor to her bed. She dropped the towel wrapped around her hair onto the bed haphazardly and sat down to put lotion along her heels, which were drying with the coming winter air that whipped through the dungeons. She looked up and saw Mara staring at a letter, frozen in place, her eyes wide.

"What's happened?" she asked lightly, "Another _rave_ review from _Witch's Weekly_ or maybe an adoring fa—"

"They picked someone," Mara said, the words coming out in a rush. The letter fluttered from her hands, but she kept them held in suspense. "My brother was supposed to be first."

Narcissa frantically picked up the letter and read it. Her mother was straight forward. Negotiations with Theo were proving more difficult than they expected, however, Mara's betrothed was selected and would be announced at Christmas with the other engagements. At the bottom of the letter, Mara's mother had written a post script: " _The suitor we selected is Candra Zabini._ "

"At least he's not a poor dancer," she offered, frowning deeply, "Oh Mara, I'm so sorry." She dropped the letter and enveloped the girl in her arms and held her.

"I didn't think—I thought for sure…" she mumbled, "I thought I would have more time."

"I know," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Mara let out a low sob and covered her face in her hands. She sat up suddenly. "Oh, Cissy! Go! You must. Lucius will be waiting for you."

"I won't leave you," she said.

"Please," Mara urged, "Lucius and Candra are friends. Find out all you can. I must know…I must know what I'm getting into."

"Are you _sure_?" she asked, frowning. It seemed deeply uncaring to leave Mara by herself, to wallow in her future.

But Mara nodded her head. "Please. I have to write faster than ever to finish the articles and finalize all the loose story ends. I must write. Please go and find out everything you can."

Narcissa nodded. She kissed her forehead. "I will."

She finished dressing. She pulled the winter cloak the Malfoy's gifted her and pulled it around her shoulders. She put the alexandrite on a shorter chain and wore it higher up her chest. She found Lucius sitting in a chair by the fire reading. She cleared her throat when she stopped near him, and he looked up.

"Morning," he said, standing up and dropping the novel onto the table.

"Morning," she replied, smiling, fluttering with nerves.

They took breakfast with them to the Quidditch pitch. The game was slotted early in the morning before a winter storm that was coming through that afternoon. She was quiet as they walked outside, the only sound between them was the swishing of their cloaks. She couldn't help but feel that Mara shouldn't have been alone. Narcissa wasn't a writer, and could not fathom the loss, and regardless of warnings, she didn't feel afraid of her future. She would, she knew, when reality set in and there was a man at her side. When her surname was stripped from her and she became the prized broodmare for another family's legacy. Mara was understandably beside herself, and Narcissa knew that there was no real way to help her.

"You really do hate Quidditch," Lucius remarked.

She laughed lightly, "Oh, I'm sorry. No. I'm worried about Mara, is all."

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

They reached the Quidditch pitch and found seats. The stadium was empty. A haze of fog hovered across the field and the grass sparkled with morning dew. Narcissa crumbled the croissant in her hand but didn't eat.

"Well, no," she said, "Her parents found a suitor before they could find a bride for Theo. Oh, don't tell him yet. He'll muck it all up."

Lucius looked stunned. She imagined the same thought crossed him too. It hit too close to home—made it feel like the end was breathing down all their necks, ready to strike at any moment.

"Who?" he asked suddenly, "The husband, I mean."

"Candra Zabini," she remarked.

He swallowed hard, but she saw relief cross his features. It wasn't him. His parents warned him; he didn't have much time left, and realistically, at any point they could decide he wasn't capable of choosing his own wife and intercede on his behalf.

"You know him," Narcissa said, "Mara's my dearest friend. Can you help me? What is he like? Is he…what they say?"

Lucius leaned his elbows against his knees and ran his fingers delicately up the bridge of his nose. She crossed her leg at the knee and wrapped her leg around her ankle nervously. He straightened after a moment of recovery.

"Candra is dry humored," he said, "Perhaps a bit boring, I think, he loves history and can drone on…and on…and on…"

Narcissa brightened, "Mara loves history! She does the same thing."

"He isn't the worst match she could have," Lucius said evenly, clasping his hand over hers. "The rumors are family based, and though he is prone to a temper, he's never been particularly bad with people. The occasional chess set or book—he'll slide them off the table."

She squeezed his hands encouragingly.

"And…would he approve of," Narcissa bit her lip. She was about to expose her best friend's secret. She'd never told anyone. "If, say, Mara had a highly successful writing career?"

"I'm not sure he would nurture it, or understand why she would want to, but I can't see why he would dissuade her," Lucius remarked.

Narcissa brightened. "Do you really think so?"

Lucius paused for a long moment. "Just…precisely how successful is Mara's career?"

"Enough. Worth risking everything for," she replied.

"So, she wrote the _Aurelia_ series?" he asked.

She gasped. "How did you know?"

"Seems obvious that it had to be one of our own, yeah?" he replied, "Aurelia comes from money, clearly, since she's struggling with arranged marriages. The lower population doesn't even consider it. The social dynamics are constructed so differently that it had to have been someone on the inside writing about what it's like. What it's _really_ like. That's why the ending was received so indecisively. Our lot wanted Aurelia to run into a werewolf den rather than face reality. And the other side thought it was a fairytale, a heroine that vanquishes darkness and then finds true love. It's classically oversighted."

"You've _read_ it?" Narcissa asked, stunned.

"Everyone's read it," Lucius replied, "At first I thought it might be the same rubbish they always post in _Witch's Weekly_ , and then the articles started coming out. And then once I met you…"

"You assumed it was Mara?" she asked.

"I assumed it was you," he replied.

"Why ever…?" Narcissa was shocked, "I'm not a writer."

Lucius smiled. He ran his thumb across hers in absent, lazy circles. "I assumed it was you, or at least about you. I believe Aurelia is you. Brazen and bold and unafraid of danger. Selfless when it counts, when it's needed most. Whether Mara meant to design her character off of your attributes or not, the likeness is there."

"The qualities of a proper heroine," Narcissa replied, "It doesn't make Aurelia and I the same."

But the admiration Mara held for Aurelia was clear from her writing. She was everything that none of the young women were allowed to be. But the message from the story was quite clear for girls like them: there were only two choices in life. Run from it or be a slave to it. Aurelia walked to her death and accepted it gladly rather than be owned by a man not unlike Lucius Malfoy. She wondered, then, how much she could truly be like Aurelia, since she was manipulating the richest man she could find to sell herself, hoping he would be the highest bidder.

"Narcissa, I…" Lucius started to say, but trailed off as she looked up at him.

She didn't know what she wanted. She was chasing a dream her mother planned for her, but until this moment she hadn't really questioned what she wanted from him. Lucius was a stubborn man, who was teetering on the edge of total disinheritance to delay a process that was already happening. Marriage was the freight train running through the middle of his life and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He risked his family, his titles, his name and fortune, to barter a few months of time before the inevitable happened. This man, who played loose with rules and hard with risks, would be in charge of her life. If she married him, he had the power to ruin her.

"Yes?" she asked.

He leaned forward and kissed her. She felt it, then, this electricity that she'd always known was there, waiting between them. It was a tiny spark that lit up every time they touched.

"It's about time," a voice shouted, loudly, across the pitch.

They both sprang apart in shock and looked. Bellatrix was standing on one of the benches on the Slytherin section, her arms on her hips, looking smug.

"Lucius Malfoy finally mustered up the courage to kiss my darling sister, I'm impressed," she remarked, but her voice seemed unimpressed and monotonous.

She noticed suddenly that beneath what appeared to be a light layer of makeup, were faded, ugly looking bruises around her face. Her eyes trailed the pattern down her neck. Bellatrix caught her looking and shifted, turning the right side of her face away from Narcissa. Narcissa wondered if the man she had in her bedroom was responsible for the bruises she was trying to hide. Her sister was scrappy, the dueling sort, so it was hard to say.

"Bellatrix," Lucius said evenly, "Are you all right?"

She laughed shrilly and wrapped her arms around herself, hugging herself for comfort. "Of course!" she said, her eyes black, wide.

"Why are you out here all by yourself before the game?" Narcissa asked, standing up, "Have you had breakfast?"

"Well…no," she replied, looking at the croissant Narcissa left forgotten on the bench beside her. Narcissa offered it to her, and she took it quickly and tore up the soft bread. "I couldn't sleep, is all, so I went to your dorm, but Mara said you were out here. So, here I am."

Narcissa stood up and ushered Bellatrix to sit next to them. She pulled her cloak from her shoulders and wrapped her up in it—Bellatrix left the castle without a cloak at all.

"What happened?" she whispered softly into her ear.

Bellatrix frowned. "There was just…so much green light."

Narcissa looked at Lucius curiously, but he shrugged. "What do you mean, Bella?"

She finished the croissant and looked up at them and laughed again, the same distant, odd laugh that she barely recognized.

"Do you two want to live forever?" she asked.

"That's not…possible," Narcissa answered.

"But it could be," she replied, "…with the right tools."

"Perhaps you should go to the castle and rest," Narcissa said, "You look exhausted."

"Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps," Bellatrix muttered, shivering underneath the cloak.

Lucius and Narcissa stood up and walked her back to the Slytherin Common Room. Narcissa took her up the stairs to her dorm and helped her into bed. Bellatrix unclasped the cloak and left it on the end and pulled the blankets over her body. The other girls in the dorm were still soundly sleeping. Narcissa kneeled by her bed and took her hand.

"Who was the man in your bedroom?" she asked, "The one over Halloween."

Her eyes fluttered open. She stared at Narcissa in shock but didn't feign sudden ignorance.

"Someone I met," she replied, "at the White Wyvern years ago."

Narcissa bit her lip. "Why does he put bruises all over you?"

Bellatrix was nearly asleep, but she sighed heavily, and said, "Because he loves me."

Narcissa stood up and folded her cloak over her arm. She left Bellatrix to sleep and shut the door behind her without a snap. Lucius was waiting at the foot of the stairs to the girl's dorm with his arms crossed, looking rather worried.

She was not sure what love was. Her parents were distant acquaintances, barely speaking to one another except for the occasion where they were forced to. Her father, bellowing politics in his study, and her mother, steadily holding the family name in her hands, spinning webs and connections for them. She did not know what love was. There had never been a good example set for her, but she knew for certain that love wasn't that.

"Asleep?" Lucius asked, as she came down the stairs.

"Yes," she replied.

"Some potions can have strange side effects," he offered, "Perhaps she took something for sleep. It can have the opposite effect if not brewed correctly."

Narcissa nodded, her smile grim. "Yes, I'm sure that was it."

When they arrived back on the pitch, their seats were taken, as students were filling up and waiting for the game. They found other seats and sat down, waiting for it to begin. Narcissa couldn't help but worry about her sister. Yes, there were two paths that women could take—abandon their titles and names or marry into another family, but what she hadn't considered was a third choice. Self-destruction. A living kind of death, a deconstruction of the soul. Being a shell of a past self. And this was the darkest path, she thought, and perhaps the worst.


	9. 9

"She puzzled the mystery of her desperate

need of kindness. As other girls

prayed for handsomeness in a lover,

or for wealth, or for power, or for

poetry, she prayed fervently:

let him be kind."

Anais Nin

It was two in the morning and she stood in the freezing corridor with her arms crossed, glancing around for Filch or Mrs. Norris in front of the Potions classroom. She leaned against the wall and sighed heavily. It was the evening before exams, and while Narcissa would have gladly preferred to study or otherwise occupy her time with something more worthwhile, she was compelled by loyalty to remain rigid in the hallway, glancing around for disturbances to alert Mara of anyone coming. The one she most feared, however, was not a nosy cat, or even Dumbledore, but her Prefect sister, Andromeda. She would rather be suspended by the chains in Filch's office than be caught wandering the castle by her sister.

"Might you finish soon?" Narcissa hissed, her teeth chattering.

She was only wearing her pajamas and didn't have the chance to dress appropriately, as Mara yanked her out of the common room without warning. Narcissa heard soft clinks of glass as Mara rummaged in the supply closet in the classroom. With a sigh, Narcissa twisted the classroom door knob and peered in. Mara perched her wand on one of the shelves for light as she looked over the ingredients quickly.

"I'm tired," she whined.

Unlike Mara, she was not a night owl, and her bed time was long overdue.

"I'm almost done, Cissy, be quiet!" Mara said.

"If Andy catches me, she'll tell my mum," Narcissa complained, "And take a thousand points from Slytherin."

"Five more minutes, I promise!" she pleaded.

Narcissa frowned but shut the classroom door and stood outside it again. The dungeons were quiet except for the tiny shuffling sound from the classroom. She angled her body to the left of the corridor, dreaming of her bed, the soft pillow that she should have been resting her head against. She did quick math, deducing that she would have hardly any sleep to get her through the day. She might fall asleep through some of her classes. She leaned against the door frame and closed her eyes. Her eyes burned from exhaustion. She drifted somewhat into a comfortable lull, a partial sleep. It was deep enough that she didn't notice the figure approaching her from behind.

" _Narcissa_?" a voice remarked incredulously in the shadows behind her.

She jolted and turned around. Lucius was standing in the corridor, his features partially obscured in the darkness. The tip of his wand was lit, and she could see his sharp, pointed features and luminescent hair in the light.

"Oh, hello," she said coolly, a thrill of fear and hot embarrassment shot through her with a jolt, "I was just…"

"You were just…?" he repeated, smirking.

"I was lost," she lied.

"Lost," he repeated, "Perhaps I should give you another swing at that."

"Sleep walking?" she added helplessly.

"Helping someone, probably Mara, steal from the potions classroom?" Lucius suggested.

"No!" she said, gravely, "I wouldn't dare."

He nodded his head. "Of course. Then it's quite all right if I just pop in really quick to check—"

Narcissa gulped and slid in front of the door to block him with her small frame. "No! I mean, why?" she asked, hurriedly, "I was just standing here, that's all. A little late-night stroll. No reason to launch a big investigation."

"I should turn you in to Slughorn," he said quietly, "Or take points from Slytherin, really."

Her temper flared suddenly. "You wouldn't," she said, narrowing her eyes. He was a Prefect, sure, but not a very good one. He no more followed the rules than any of them did, in fact, he was worse.

"What potion is Mara trying to brew?" he asked sternly and then added when she glared at him, " _Narcissa_. I'm your Prefect."

Narcissa let out an exasperated sigh. "…Veritaserum…"

He sighed and lifted his palm against the classroom door above her head and swung it open wide. She moved away from him as he strode into the room. Mara was hunched over a book and a pile of ingredients, silently mouthing as she counted out and measured each ingredient. She jumped when Lucius entered and scattered away from the table, knocking some of the ingredients to the floor.

"Sorry, Mara," Narcissa said, shrugging her shoulders, "I tried to stop him, but he's being a _very_ thorough Prefect tonight. For the first time."

"Veritaserum?" Lucius asked, approaching the table. He spread out the ingredients that she didn't scatter to the floor. "That's a very complex potion. It takes nearly a month to brew."

"I'm aware of its complexities," Mara replied snidely.

Lucius sighed. "Then you know I can't let you brew it."

"What if you just turned around," Narcissa said, walking up to him. She wrapped her arm around his elbow and tried to pull him from the room, but he remained firmly planted, "Pretend you saw nothing. Just me, wandering the corridor. You can just take me back to bed!"

Lucius stared at her incredulously.

"No," he said firmly, and turned back to Mara, "I can't let you steal from the Potions storeroom because you're making a potion that you don't have enough experience with to make correctly, and no doubt, will use it on Zabini to uncover his secrets before you marry him."

"I'll have you know, Parkinson's are _renowned_ Potion masters," Mara huffed. "My father—"

"Your father is renowned," He interrupted icily, "not _you_."

Mara glared and picked up her wand. "Malfoy, step down," she growled, "before I have to put you down."

He ripped his arm from Narcissa's and stepped up to her. He towered over her—Mara was even smaller than Narcissa, whose head stopped just beneath his chin—but Mara was hardly bothered by his height. She pulled her wand to her chest and glared hotly.

"Go back to the common room," he commanded, his voice low, "Go before you regret it."

"Mara," Narcissa said soothingly, "Let's go. Lucius just wants us to be safe."

" _Safe_?" she spat, "He just wants to interfere. I'm not listening to your boyfriend, Cissy, and neither should you."

An explosion from Mara's wand emitted, throwing Lucius and Narcissa backward across the classroom. Narcissa crashed into a desk and rolled over it. She fell onto her back. A cloud of purple smoke hissed from the end of Mara's wand. She had gripped it so tightly that it went off by accident. As they shook themselves from a daze, Mara scooped the ingredients into her bag and fled the room. Narcissa untangled herself and stood up. Lucius stayed on the floor, looking furious. She held her arm out to help him up, and she took it. She pulled him to his feet and he glared at her.

"What're you glaring at me for?" she snapped, "I told you to leave it alone!"

"You're out wandering in the middle of the night and stealing ingredients to make a potion that's far above your skillset!" he hissed.

" _I_ wasn't going to brew anything!" she retorted, " _I_ was just the lookout, so don't get cross with me!"

"Being compliant in rule breaking is still breaking the rules," he retorted.

Narcissa pulled away from him, stunned. "Since when do _you_ care about the rules?" she asked, and furiously, she pushed past him, knocking hard into his shoulder. She stalked down the corridor in a rage. He called after her, but she ignored him.

"Pureblood!" she yelled at the stone wall and barely waited for it to completely slide apart before she went down the dungeon steps and shoved the door open.

The Slytherin common room was silent and cool, and her footsteps on the marble echoed across the room. The stairs creaked as she rushed up them, uncaring of whom she woke. Mara was in the dorm when she entered, but she didn't speak to her. Narcissa climbed into bed and closed the hangings. She laid on her side and burned with rage until she finally fell asleep.

She slammed her things around in the morning when she woke, still angry with Mara for coaxing her into sneaking out, and furious with Lucius for trying to intercede. Her best friend was just as angry with her, and so they left separately and didn't speak. She was exhausted and sore from Mara jinxing her, admittedly by accident, and so she skipped breakfast and went immediately to her classes for her exams. Mara chose to sit elsewhere and ignore her in Potions, and Narcissa was too angry to bother making amends after they finished.

The day wore on, specifically terrible, and she skipped History of Magic and Charms, feigning illness, and went back to her dorm to sleep. She slept, but it was fitful. She woke up and turned constantly, not quite able to find a comfortable way to lie. Finally, she shoved a pillow over her face and tried to block the noise from the common room after classes were over. Dinner came and went, and she remained, fuming. It was unlike her to lie in bed all day, the way that her mother and Bellatrix could.

Near ten o'clock, the other girls entered the dorm, chatting merrily, but she left the hangings closed and moodily stared up at the velvet, emerald cover, wishing she were miles away from here. Soon, their voices turned to soft snores, and Narcissa rolled over and fell asleep again too.

On Saturday morning, she woke well-rested and less irritable. She pulled the hangings apart and stared. Mara was sitting on the edge of her bed, hands in her lap, staring at the floor, clearly waiting for Narcissa to rouse.

"I need your help," she spoke quietly, "I managed to get every ingredient but one thing, and I think it's in Slughorn's office stockroom. I just need to sneak in and—"

"No," Narcissa interrupted, "No more. I won't lose house points or get detention over this matter anymore."

Mara sneered. "You mean you won't risk your engagement to Lucius Malfoy. For your best friend."

"I asked Lucius if he believed Candra posed a direct threat to your burgeoning writing career, and he said _no_."

Narcissa stood up and dressed quickly. She pulled her hair loose from her braid and let it fall in soft tendrils down her back. She quickly slipped her shoes on and opened the dormitory door. Quickly, she pulled her cloak over her shoulders.

"And you expect _me_ to believe him?" Mara asked, following behind her closely, "I can't trust him."

There were few milling in the high backed chairs by the fire. She slipped small diamond earrings into her ear as she walked across the threshold.

Narcissa whipped around, clenching her fingers into her palms, " _I_ TRUST HIM. I TRUST HIM. AND THAT SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING TO YOU!"

She stormed from the common room out into the cold dungeons. She opened the wide oak doors and stepped into the frosty air. A blanket of snow covered the grounds and snow fell lightly as she pulled her hood up. A daring girl would go into the forest, greet the many monsters that might lurk within, but she was in no mood for the enchantment of trees. She stormed off to the greenhouses instead and pushed one open blindly—it was the seventh year greenhouse, larger than the fifth year one, with wide wooden tables and metal stools.

Narcissa wasn't one to cry. She hardly recalled a real time over the age of six that she cried and meant it, really meant it, and so she seethed instead. She sat down on the stool and tried to coax the tumultuous rage to lull within her. Mara was coming undone about her marriage. Narcissa was sympathetic, but she also knew it was going to happen. By all standards, Mara was coming out on top. She wasn't marrying Eugene Bulstrode, the overlarge, burly man with more eyebrow than brains.

She cradled her forehead in her palm and sniffed as tears welled up in her eyes and started to fall, small splattering droplets onto the wood. She knew their freedom was on a timer, slowly ticking away until the day came where they knew who it was they were going to share a prisoned life with. The world was closing in on Mara, and Narcissa wasn't ignorant of that fact, but a part of her was hurt. Mara was afraid of losing her ability to write. Narcissa was afraid of losing her best friend. Years would pass by them once she was married, and they wouldn't speak. They would become Garden Club members together, sharing tiny bits of gossip, never mind that only a few short years before, they were enveloped in one another's world. There was no love like a best friend. And there was no pain quite like the loss of one.

The greenhouse door opened, but she managed to wipe her tears quickly and straightened her back. She was Narcissa Black, lest she ever forget, and there was no room for weakness. She listened as the door snapped closed quietly, but the footsteps didn't walk over to her.

"Why do you trust me?" the voice called, echoing around the greenhouse. "I threatened to tell Slughorn on you, I refused to let you and Mara concoct that potion. I did nothing to earn your trust, and yet you shouted it, in the common room—in front of me, in front of our house. You declared it to your closest friend. Forgive me, Narcissa, but I have not always been exceptionally loyal to you. So why put your trust in me?"

Narcissa stared at the ivy melting out of a pot onto the floor, the leaves flashing bits of silver across a deep green. The leaves looked something like a serpent's tongue.

She sniffed but didn't answer him. He sighed in frustration and swept across the room. He pulled her by the arm around the stool and pinned her against the table, his arms on either side of her. He searched her features earnestly, but Narcissa was cool and unwavering.

"I'm not good for you," he said, "I'm not _worthy_ of your trust, Narcissa. I will break it. Again and again. I'm not _good_."

"What does it matter?" she asked, "We're friends."

"We're not friends," he said coldly.

She turned her chin up at him. "I trust your word when you tell me Candra Zabini is decent and will not hurt Mara, then. Fine. If that's as far as you want it to go—"

"It's so much more than that!" Lucius interrupted, "Tell me you feel it. Tell me you know what it is. My heart nearly rips out of my chest at the sight of you. I barely feel alive if I'm not near you, and that terrifies me. I can't put into words what this is."

Narcissa was shocked, entirely stunned into silence. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it. He looked crestfallen. She sighed heavily, her fingers were shaking, as she reached up and touched her throat. Blacks were not sentimental. Strong, silent, above all, resilient. To remain pure also meant pure of heart, without emotion. Without love. Love was a weakness not one of them could afford.

"I know it," she said softly, swallowing hard, "I feel it."

He rested his forehead against hers and sighed. Her eyes fluttered closed and she listened to her heart hammering in her chest, beating so fast her body seemed to be jolting. His hands ran up her waist slowly, all the way to her neck. He cupped her face with his hands and suddenly he was kissing her. But her sister was not there to stop them, to stop the electric current between them from taking over.

He laid her down against the table and lithely sprang over her body, unclasping her cloak at the throat and kissing down her body. She inhaled heavily his body pressed against hers. Her hands were in his hair, untying the band, freeing his hair to fall loose around his shoulders. He kissed her with a hunger she hadn't known was there, with such ferocity that she couldn't breathe. They were connected to one another, she felt it, some sort of invisible thread that pulled them together constantly. Her entire body was on fire from him and she begged for more of him—she craved more of him, all of him, every single inch of his body and soul.

She pressed her spine into the table and arched her hips into him, and he groaned. His hands were messily running all over her, making her blood sing. She whimpered as his mouth left her bruised lips and kissed down her body. She couldn't bare it. She grit her teeth as he pulled her robes up her thighs and replaced the fabric with his mouth. And soon he was all over her, his mouth on her pelvis, sliding his tongue to places not even Narcissa had explored, and she clenched her thighs, gasping. She was the goddess and he knelt at her altar, giving, giving, giving.

An explosion rippled through her spine and she felt light headed. His mouth moved to her thighs and back up her body. Her legs fell limp against the table.

"How...?" she murmured weakly.

"Shh," he murmured, kissing her neck, his fingers running up her thigh.

He kissed her until the pounding in her loins subsided and their breathing returned to normal.

"Why shouldn't I trust you?" she asked him in the stillness.

He leaned up and propped his head up with her elbow. He ran his hand down her ribcage.

"I think I would sorely disappoint you," he murmured, "Maybe not now, but one day. I might make the wrong decision. You might grow to hate me."

She shifted her head to look at him. "You can't hold people at arm's length because you're afraid of what might happen."

"I know," he said, "but what if I lost you? What if I did something that you couldn't forgive?"

"Build a foundation worth coming back to," Narcissa said, "Even if I'm lost. Build something I'll always come home to. No matter what you do."

He nodded his head. "I'm afraid."

"If you weren't, it wouldn't matter," she said softly.

And just like that, something was born in her that she couldn't define, something so much bigger than her, something she could hardly explain. She didn't know it, but this was what love looked like.


	10. 10

"The first time we touched, it's as if a whole new

world of galaxies had opened up, the universe

conspired, the stars approved, the moon stopped

hiding just to peer at us from above, and for the

first time, finally, finally, finally, something felt right."

cynthia go

Narcissa burst through the heavy double doors and dropped her trunk excitedly. It was the first day of Christmas break, and the day they received _the_ news. Her mother lifted her from the floor and spun her around, sobbing. Her arms felt like iron welding across her back and the air wheezed slowly from her lungs. She hugged her mother with what little bit of her arms weren't encased.

"We did it, Cissy!" she cried, "We've won!"

"Congratulations on your _prize_ ," Andromeda retorted, dropping her things in front of the door and rolling her eyes, "Your fifteen year old daughter is getting married."

Druella let Narcissa go and wiped her tears. She patted her daughter down the shoulders, smoothing her cloak. "Oh, she'll be at least sixteen by then."

Bellatrix slipped through the door and skirted up the stairs, pale as a ghost and bone thin. Andromeda pressed her lips into a thin line. She moved in front of Narcissa and stared at her mother, hard.

"You think this is okay?" she asked, "You _encouraged_ her to woo a seventeen year old into proposing to her? This is sick. You've done really _wretched_ things to us, Mother, but this is by far the worst. Narcissa's not even old enough to know just what she's done."

Druella flushed. With a powerful smack, she hit Andromeda with her open palm and knocked her to the floor. Narcissa inhaled and the air seemed to stay there, choking her. She knew there would be a moment when Andromeda and her mother broke each other.

"This is not _our_ world girl, it's _theirs_. It's your father's," Druella hissed, "it's Abraxas Malfoy's. We get little choice, very little choice, and if I can secure my daughter the best, I will. You judge me, go ahead. I would do it all over again."

"How are the Malfoy's the best?" Andy argued, standing on her feet, "What defines them? Their money? What if Lucius _beats_ her, mother? Did you consider that, or is cruelty not on your agenda? No, of course not, but let's make sure Narcissa has seventy mink trim cloaks to hide all of the bruises."

Narcissa flinched, thinking of Bellatrix. _Because he loves me._ That man covered her in bruises. She thought of Lucius, his gently touch, the electric sparks between them. The tender way in which his grey eyes met hers, how he told her he was afraid.

"Andy, shut up," she said softly, just as her sister started to launch into another attack against her mother. "I love him."

Druella stopped and looked at her in surprise. Andy was repulsed. She snarled and picked up her trunk and stomped up the stairs, muttering to herself about glorified slave trades. Druella pulled her by the arm into her parlor and shut the door. The letter was sitting on her mother's piano and she picked it up and with a flourish, handed her the parchment:

" _Master Cygnus and Lady Black,_

 _It is our greatest pleasure to request your presence at our manor to discuss in finer detail the possible betrothal of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black. Please respond to this letter if you are able to come by tomorrow morning to discuss the finer details. We are most anxious to start this new chapter._

 _Yours,_

 _The Malfoys,_

 _M. Abraxas Malfoy,_

 _L. Ophelia Malfoy_

 _M. Lucius Malfoy"_

Narcissa sighed heavily and sat down on the chair. She lifted her eyes to her mother and smiled. Her mother dissolved into tears and sat across from her and sobbed.

"I-I-I k-knew it would happen," she said, "I just _knew_ it. My daughter. A Malfoy."

For all of her faults and the hardships her mother put each daughter through, she was proud. Narcissa understood the limitations of their society, and it was highly unlikely it would change in her lifetime. Andromeda wasn't wrong—fifteen year olds should concern themselves with their O.W.L.S, their Quidditch teams, and their futures. But this wasn't _that_ world yet and wouldn't be for quite some time.

"I'm glad to have made you proud," Narcissa said, reaching forward and clasping her mother's hand, "But I have to admit…it wasn't torture."

Druella smiled. "You love him."

"I do," she said, exhaling in a rush.

"My job was to find you a husband that wouldn't put you in a gilded cage and leave you there," she said softly, "That I could have also given you a person to call your home…"

She wept again. Narcissa held her tight and rocked her. She was torn. On the one hand, she understood her sister, all of the pent up anger and hatred she held inside. It was easy to blame their mother, who pushed, and pushed, and pushed them to be different than what they were, but she was the figurehead of a larger problem. As she held her mother, who was weeping tears of joy that her youngest was not stuck with a man unworthy of her, she vowed she wouldn't be here in another decade or two, sobbing because she managed to secure a promising marriage on behalf of her child. Partially, because she knew what it felt to be the child struggling, and the other side, the fear, the hardship, the toll it had on her mother. Narcissa didn't want her own heart to break into a thousand pieces if all the webs she spent years spinning crumbled in front of her.

Assuming her father could negotiate the dowry to an acceptable trade, the Malfoys would accept in enough time that it could be announced at the Christmas Ball. Narcissa was unsure why Lucius went to his parents so quickly. She thought, perhaps, he had decided to acquiesce to his parents' demands and give them what they wanted, but a nervous part of her didn't trust it. She did not doubt that he wanted to be with her, but she very much doubted he wanted to be married so quickly.

"Sleep, girl, we have an early start in the morning," Druella said, patting her cheek, "And you must look your best."

Narcissa nodded and left her mother in the parlor. As she walked up the staircase, she stopped and looked at the door, watching the silhouette of her mother from the drawn curtains over the door reading the letter over and over. She smiled softly and slipped up the stairs to bed.

Morning came far too soon. Dawn peaked over the edge of trees, and pale pink morning shown through her window. Maxie woke her violently, bounding through the hangings and trampling across her stomach. The overlarge dog barked, high pitched and excited, and licked every inch of her face.

"Maxie!" Druella sang, "She was out in the woods and didn't know you came in last night."

Her mother was so happy that not even the trail of muddy paws across the white comforter could bother her. Narcissa sighed and buried her face in her fur, breathing in the cold smell of pine and trees. Max was damp from snow and her bottom half was covered in mud. Narcissa sighed contentedly and wrapped her arms around her. Of all things in the world, nothing was purer than Max, whose love she did not always ask for or need, but always given.

Druella clapped her hands, "Up! Up! Off to the bath. We are on a tight schedule!"

Narcissa looked at Max and pouted, drawing her lower lip. Max barked. She patted her head and launched herself out of bed. She was nervous and full of butterflies. Some families, like Mara's parents, negotiated a marriage without an interview from the potential bride and groom. It was a little old fashioned to have a long, drawn out one, but the Malfoys were no ordinary family. The benefit was, in addition to her interviewing, Lucius was assigned the task of gaining approval of her parents as well. The odds were deeply skewed in his favor, Narcissa noted, watching her mother hum merrily as she searched her closet for the best dressing gown.

Her shower was short, for unlike Bellatrix who bathed in oils and perfumes, she did not like baths. Her mother dried her hair and braided it as Narcissa sat in her vanity, watching Max shred the comforter and growl playfully behind them. Her mother fussed for nearly two hours before Cygnus bellowed from the first floor that they needed to hurry, and then she finally—painstakingly—spun Narcissa's hair into a fishtail braid. She elected a navy blue dressing gown that offset her eyes, and Narcissa elected the alexandrite necklace and the gray cloak they gave her as a birthday gift.

The carriage ride was mostly quiet between them. Narcissa drew another portrait of Maxie, sitting on the bed with bits of shredded fabric surrounding her, and the easy, panting smile on her face. Her father watched her out of the corner of his eye but said nothing. He was a man of few words if not bellowing over politics or property.

"I assume you have a decent dowry lined up," Druella finally broke the silence.

"Well there's _three_ of them," he replied, "so it's modest, but should be acceptable. Besides, the Malfoys have all of the money and property they could ever want."

"You just need to be sure to not insult them," her mother chided, "Go too low, and it won't matter that Lucius chose her himself."

"I'll go higher than we did for the Lestranges with Bellatrix, but once we exhaust that, we won't hardly have anything for Andromeda," he remarked.

Narcissa looked up. "You arranged Bella's husband?"

Druella nodded. "Oh yes, last summer."

"Does she _know_?" Narcissa replied, aghast.

"Oh yes," her mother nodded, pursing her lips, "Her only wish was to wait until Christmas to declare it, which is practical. It allows her to finish school and be with the rest of the proposals."

No one had told her. She didn't find that surprising, the Blacks weren't particularly communicative. She hardly spoke to her cousins or her aunt and uncle, let alone her own siblings or parents.

"And Andy?" she asked, swallowing nervously, "I'll take up the rest of what she would have?"

Druella sighed heavily and rearranged her skirts, refusing to answer.

"She's not going to get married," her father said finally.

Druella bit the tip of her pinky finger and looked out the window. She turned briefly and murmured, "Don't say that, Cygnus, she might change her mind."

Part of her knew the answer to the question before she asked it. Andy didn't _fit_ in their world. She wouldn't make the best out of a bad situation, she would fight against it, die trying to change it. Narcissa knew that. But she knew one day she would have to let her go, the sister that was sometimes more a mother than her real one was, the one that argued with her over every book or poem they read, but still wanted to share it with her. The sister that gardened with her, suffered through the heat. Who didn't mind Max. Andy was wild like her, but once she was gone, she would be lost to Narcissa forever.

The Malfoy manor loomed over them, covered in fresh powdered snow. The long jaunting towers and slanted, gloomy roof was nearly enchanting with the dusting of snow across it. The iron gates creaked open painfully, and the carriage brought them right up to the door. Her father opened the carriage door.

The front door open, and all three Malfoys came out to greet them in heavy winter cloaks.

"Cygnus!" Abraxas greeted merrily.

He stepped up to the carriage and held his hand out for Druella.

"Lady Black, you are as enchanting as ever," he said, kissing her knuckles before helping her from the carriage. She watched her mother blush for the first time.

Abraxas held his hand out for Narcissa and she placed her hand in his palm, her heart beating nervously.

"Miss Black," he said, bowing deeply to her as she swept out of the carriage, "I have heard _quite_ a bit about you. I'm anxious to learn even more."

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," Narcissa responded.

Her eyes turned to Lucius, who stood primly with his hands behind his back. His hair was slicked back, tied neatly in a band at the nape of his neck. He winked at her, and she smiled. He offered his arm to her and she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. Abraxas took Druella on one arm, and Ophelia on the other, and guided them both through the threshold.

The manor was lit up by floating lanterns. Christmas decorations covered the walls and floor—a massive Christmas tree stood by the stairs, fully ornamented in green and silver. Garland was wrapped around the staircase and bells hung above each door. It smelled heavily of forest pine and cinnamon, and every inch of the home seemed to be bursting with warmth.

"I hope you haven't had breakfast yet," Abraxas said, "We've quite a spread laid out for you."

"Oh yes," Ophelia added, "French pastries brought directly from one of my favorite bakeries in Paris!"

They lead them to one of the smaller dining rooms ("We have four, but this is the best one for breakfast!" Ophelia said) with wide, floor length windows overlooking the garden. This dining room, Narcissa surmised, was almost directly underneath Lucius's bedroom, because she could see the family tree from the vantage point of where the balcony was positioned. Abraxas sat at the end of the table, and Ophelia sat at the end. Narcissa sat to Abraxas's left, and Druella across from her. Her father sat beside her, and Lucius sat next to Druella, looking slightly nervous by the seating arrangement.

The table suddenly filled with a beautiful palette of French pastries and breakfast items: fluffy croissants, pain suisse _,_ brioche. Trays of perfectly sliced fruit layered across a turning lazy Susan platform. Numerous assortments of tea, coffee, and juice were delicately arranged amongst typical breakfast items, eggs and sausage, heaping portions of bacon and toast and jam.

It occurred to her, as she lifted her sleeve to twist her hand over a plate of sausage for elderberry jam, that the Malfoys may also want to impress them.

"The Christmas ball is hosted at your house this year, correct, Cygnus?" Abraxas asked conversationally.

Her father grunted. Druella glared daggers at him, and then smiled daintily to Mr. Malfoy, "Yes, it is, Abraxas. We took on the mantle to host it about five years ago. It was revolving, but the other families thought it was just too much."

"Oh! Oh, of course," he said, snickering, "I'm not quite certain how I haven't noticed that in…five years."

"I forget we've been doing it as long as we have," her mother admitted.

Abraxas turned to Narcissa and she nearly choked on her toast. "Tell me, Narcissa, what is your favorite celebration of the year?"

"The Masquerade," she answered, "I love the costuming, and the game of trying to discover everyone."

"You wore the black lace gown, is that correct?" Ophelia asked, taking a sip from her cup.

"Yes," Narcissa replied, "With the lace mask."

"I remember it," she said, leaning forward slightly, "Druella, who is your tailor?"

"Twilfitt and Tattings," Druella said, "For local uses, of course, and some specialty items. Much of Bella's gowns come from Bulgaria, but Cissy's are typically Twilfitt and Tattings."

"They make _exquisite_ robes," Ophelia remarked warmly.

Lucius looked terribly bored as he turned his food over on his plate without eating it. Narcissa took a drink of the mixed fruit juice she poured from a splendid crystal serving pitcher. Their mothers chatted idly about tailors until everyone else present at the table were quite tired of the conversation. She swore she saw her father doze off for a second, and suddenly jerk back awake.

Finally, Abraxas saved them by clearing his throat, "I've heard a great deal about you from Lucius. You're quite adept with Herbology, he says."

"Oh, yes," she said quickly, "Well, I prefer the more mundane plants, not the more vicious ones. My specialty is in common potion ingredients. Wolfsbane, for instance."

"Ah, the Parkinson's keep that around their manor," he remarked.

"That's mine!" she said excitedly, "I give some to Mara every year in a giant vase. She puts it in the main foyer, is that where you saw it?"

"Yes, that is," he replied, "Magnificent. You must rival Lucius quite well. He tends the courtyard in the summer, though I believe in his _old age_ , he's growing weary."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "I've been studying a different species that require very little light."

"Well, either way, the servants pick up the slack," Abraxas said breezily, waving his hand over his plate. The dish disappeared completely.

Ophelia laughed lightly, her voice sounded like tiny bells. "Abraxas, she also draws. Druella shares her sketches during Garden Club."

Narcissa's cheeks turned pink. She knew quite well that her mother shared them, but it was such a raw part of her being exposed.

"She drew our ancestral tree," Ophelia added, "Quite well!"

"That was the draft, I'm afraid," Narcissa responded, "Lucius corrected the one I have now, so it's more accurate."

"She's modest. I added the rest of the names to the stones, that's basically it," he said.

Abraxas rested his elbows against the table and folded his hands together. "I do think it's important for young couples to have things in common, to have something to do with one another besides work. Ophelia and I were extremely interested in travel for many years before Lucius. We explored Egyptian pyramids and other ancient wizarding cultures. We have many relics around the house from our expeditions. It's our ambition to continue once Lucius has finished school and is settled."

Her parents said nothing, and Narcissa knew why. They had been married for nearly twenty-three years, and they had nothing in common. The contrast was so sharp that even Abraxas seemed to have realized the error in his words.

"Druella, what was your skillset again?" he asked, changing the subject, "I remember once, you interviewed with my father. Piano, yes? The violin…"

"Piano, organ, and violin," her mother finished, "I was also accomplished in seventy-five different dances and excelled in healing."

Abraxas nodded his head. "Yes, yes, that's right! An _incredible_ amount of talent in one tiny young girl."

Narcissa looked at Lucius curiously. Her mother never spoke of her days as a young girl. She knew her mother was proficient in healing, music, and dancing, but she _didn't_ know that she interviewed with the Malfoy's to be a potential bride. Narcissa wondered what that girl looked like, her mother, if she was happy back then. For her whole life, her mother was emotionless unless at an extreme feeling—superb anger, happiness, sadness—otherwise she was blank. Narcissa thought of her mother, crying in front of her bedroom window. _Every moment falls on the spine of the woman. And her mother, if she is worth any salt_.

"Ophelia, I assume you still use all…forty languages you speak and write?" Druella asked, sounding somewhat cold.

"I aid in translation for Hogwarts and the Ministry when needed, yes," she replied.

"Unfortunate that I was a woman of music and not a woman of tongues," her mother said, running her finger down her orange juice, watching the condensation collect into droplets on her finger.

Ophelia's laugh sounded like high pitched bells. "Music speaks a language I know not of, Dru. Give yourself the credit when it is due."

Narcissa stared at her father, who appeared surprised by the knowledge that his wife was capable of anything at all. She suddenly wondered why Andromeda's frustrations were aimed at their mother when the culprit was always in his study, yelling about this or that.

Abraxas was pale from the intensity he was creating, clearly by accident. Narcissa nearly snorted with laughter as she watched the panic spread across his frozen smile. She cut her eyes to Lucius, who quickly held his hand over his mouth to stifle a smile.

"Father," Lucius said, stabbing idly at the food he hadn't touched, "I understand mother had a great deal of pet snakes when you were first married."

His expression was sour, and he nodded solemnly, "Oh yes, very rare ones. And please understand when I say, I was in Slytherin and of course, _proud_ to be one, but I simply detest serpents." He shuddered visibly.

"I tried so hard to learn Parstletongue," Ophelia said, sighing, "Ah, but I did love the serpents. Atticus, Floyd, Finch, and Iris. They were not bred for longevity, only lived to a maximum of five years, so by the time Lucius came along, they were gone."

"I had a tabby cat named Miss Priscilla," her mother offered, "She lived to the age of twenty-three. She slept on a shelf above Bellatrix's crib, very protective. Oh, I loved her deeply. She shredded all of the girls' hangings in the dorm when I was at Hogwarts, but I couldn't bear to leave her at home."

Narcissa smiled brightly. It was rare that her mother spoke of the past. She thought perhaps it was too painful of her, or perhaps she was just pragmatic.

"Ah, I remember her!" Abraxas said excitedly, "Long hair, bushy tail. She slept in front of the fire."

Druella nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, she loved the fireplace. That's where she laid down when she passed. I didn't realize, at first, but she didn't come when I brought her dinner..."

Tears welled in her mother's eyes for a single second, and she quickly dabbed her eyelids and inhaled, regaining control.

"Is that who I've seen photographs of?" Narcissa asked, "I never knew…she was very pretty. The portrait in your parlor, she's always snoozing."

Druella laughed, "Yes, her portrait is only awake for a few hours in the morning."

"I should have had a portrait made for my snakes!" Ophelia exclaimed.

Abraxas shuddered and shook his head vehemently. " _No_ , mon amour, no!"

Narcissa was entirely amused by their interactions. She could have guessed, but never actually knew, that Abraxas and her mother attended school together. She assumed, then, that her father did as well, but he was quiet, choosing not to regale them tales of the past.

"Shall we adjourn the meal, then?" Ophelia asked, merrily, and clapped her hands when everyone nodded.

They stood up and walked out of the dining hall.

"Cygnus, let's let our beautiful wives take in the snowy scenery from the parlor," Abraxas announced.

Narcissa's heart thudded and she looked to her mother, who also seemed suddenly apprehensive. Two men retiring to one's study meant they were discussing business that women couldn't be privy to.

"Oh yes, Dru, I have the most magnificent book I want to suggest for our book club…" Ophelia said, taking her by the arm. "Lucius, do be a good host to Narcissa and give her a proper tour, I imagine she's only seen the ballroom!"

"Yes, Mum," he replied.

"We'll reconvene for lunch in an hour?" Abraxas suggested, as the parents went their separate ways.

Soon, Narcissa and Lucius were left alone in the hallway. Lucius bumped her shoulder and motioned for her to follow. He went up the marble staircase quickly, taking two at time, but her legs were limited in the dressing gown, and her corset was restricting her lungs, so she was much slower. He waited for her at the top of the stairs.

"Not as spry as you usually are in the castle, Narcissa," he teased.

"You wouldn't last a second in a corset, Lucius Malfoy," she retorted, "I demand a rematch when I'm in functional clothing."

Lucius laughed. "Some would say that your gown is quite functional."

"Ah, yes, but not good for the sport of competition," Narcissa replied, "Unless it's for the quickest drop to a fainting chair."

He took her to his room first. His room was massive and larger than hers, taking up nearly the entire span of the common room. The main threshold of his room was on the second floor, and a wooden staircase led to the third floor, where his bed was. The main room was a library of sorts and a study space, the walls lined with books. There were tables with various dangerous looking plants. A handsome ivy was thriving on top of a spindly, thin table. She reached for the ivy and it twisted around her wrist. The leaves seemed to kiss her hand, and then unraveled and let her loose.

"You're lucky," Lucius remarked, "The Venomous Tentacula is in good spirits today."

Wide window paned let in so much light. She looked out and had perfect view of the span of the courtyard, where the snow fell merrily.

"This is magnificent," she said, drawing a deep breath.

She walked up the stairs to investigate the top floor. His bed was an overlarge king sized bed made a grey stained elm. She saw the balcony doors and looked out of them—this was where he was standing on his birthday last summer. She could see the tops of the ancient tree, the branches weighed heavy by the dusting snow.

She stopped in front of his dresser and saw the framed drawings Druella had given Ophelia. She smiled and moved over to his bedside table—a drawing she had done of Maxie was sitting on the left end table. To her great surprise, a black cat blinked its yellow eyes up at her.

"Oh!" she gasped, "You have a cat."

"Yes," he said, "That's—er, Professor Bastien. My mother named him…I call him Bast, it's less embarrassing."

Lucius appeared at the top of the stairs with a book in his hand. Clearly, he was distracted as she toured. He walked over and placed the book spine down and picked up the overlarge cat into his arms. She immediately heard Bast purr.

"Do you think he would like Max?" she asked, giggling a little.

"Perhaps if Max did not try to eat him," he remarked.

Narcissa hadn't considered how that might work. Of course, it hadn't been a question of whether or not she would bring Max into their marriage. Now…what if her beloved Max ate Lucius' beloved Professor Bastien? She reached up and pet the cat's head. With any luck, they would acclimate.

"Why don't you bring him to Hogwarts?" she asked.

"He's not overly fond of people," Lucius replied, as Bast recoiled from Narcissa and squirmed from Lucius' arms. He fled underneath the bed. "See?"

She couldn't help but laugh as the lamp like eyes peered at her nervously from under the bed.

Lucius sat down on the bed and the eyes disappeared.

"Mrs. Norris would have a horrible influence on him anyway," she remarked.

Lucius showed her around the rest of the manor. She marveled at the dozens and dozens of rooms, still decorated from previous Malfoys. Some of the rooms were covered in layers of dust, having barely been disturbed in centuries. Some were even magicked shut, as if previous owners put such an extreme locking spell on them to keep their privacy that the magic remained, long after they were gone. She was lost in a room full of landscapes portraits of deserts and fields of flowers. Travels, Lucius explained, from his parents' early marriages. She watched the fields blow in the wind and the patterns of night and day pass over every few minutes, becoming enveloped in them until finally she snapped herself out of it, and they continued the tour.

She loved the fourth floor the most—the entire floor was a library, one that could have rivaled Hogwarts. The shelves were intricate mazes containing thousands of books, more than she would ever be able to read in her lifetime. Some were ancient, the pages worn so thin they were nearly translucent, and some were brand new, with thick leather bound spines and shining embossing.

As they walked down the circular staircase to the third floor, Narcissa said, "Your home as interesting as Hogwarts."

"Oh?" he asked, "I find Hogwarts more fun to explore. The staircases move constantly, after all, so there's always a unique challenge."

"But there seems to be so much of interest," she said keenly, "I know all about my own manor. It's not quite so interesting."

The Blacks were, after all, very straight forward people. She felt as though the Malfoy manor had secret passages.

He revealed in a few moments that it did, in fact, have secret passages. He pulled a book near the fireplace and a fake wall swiveled. She quickly gathered her skirts and pressed through the door. Beyond the wall, was a secret vault, where Dark objects and ancient magical artifacts were on display behind thick impenetrable glass. She noticed that there were several chests full of galleons on the floor, whether they were stashed or put on display, she wasn't sure, but Lucius paid them no mind, and walked down the hallway of the vault and down a steep set of stairs. She followed him until he stopped and slipped in front of an alcove.

"My father's study," he whispered, beckoning her forward.

From a tiny pinhole in the wall, she could see out of what must have been a portrait. There were two tiny holes, and Lucius looked out of the other.

Abraxas was pouring whiskey from a tumbler into Cygnus' glass.

"Well yes, of course, there is the matter of the Black manor," Abraxas said, "To which I presume is going to be offered with Bellatrix's contract to the Lestrange family, no? Pity, Narcissa is not the oldest."

Cygnus grunted, "Pity I didn't have a son. I must watch my ancestral land go to another family."

"Yes, that is terrible," Mr. Malfoy replied, sipping his own glass. He winced and placed it on the table, clearly it was not his preference. "I wonder, then, what prospects Narcissa has in terms of property."

"She doesn't," Cygnus said, "I'm offering 50,000 galleons, Malfoy, that's all I have."

"Quite low, for a girl of her caliber," Abraxas remarked.

"Well I've got three of her _caliber_ , if you will," he replied.

Abraxas nodded uneasily. "Of course, Black, I'm not unaware of your circumstances. It's just that I was intending to expound upon the Malfoy legacy. See, we've the property in France that I suspect Lucius and Narcissa will want to stay at for their honeymoon, and we have another vacation home in Italy, but having another…well, it would be for the good of future generations and their legacies."

"Grimmauld Place in London isn't mine to give," Cygnus replied.

Abraxas leaned back in his chair. "What if you parceled the Black estate to each daughter? Include each in a dowry. There's nearly 250 acres, certainly it could be split into thirds. Each girl gets 83 acres to do as she pleases."

"What benefit do you have with gaining only a third of a property?" her father asked bluntly.

"Not _me_ , my _son_ , remember, and your darling daughter," Abraxas replied, "She's the youngest, no? The baby of the family. Patient, steady, and sweet. Not as unyielding as the other two, no? She deserves a piece of her heritage—her children deserve her heritage—for she's done everything right, hasn't she?"

Her father sighed heavily. "She'll want the woods that borders the Zabini property line, just before the lake. But I can tell you the Lestranges won't be happy about this. Not one bit."

Narcissa was elated. Her forest! Abraxas bargained for her forest!

"The forest," Abraxas agreed, "They can do with it as they please. After you've passed, of course, Cygnus."

"Of course," he replied bitterly, and picked up the quill, "Now where do I sign?"

Abraxas brandished the contract with a flourish. "Here, here, and here. And we've made ourselves a marriage, Cygnus. Congratulations."

Lucius took her by the arm and removed her from the pin hole. They hurried down more stairs. "They'll be coming around to collect our Mum's now, I suspect, so we should hurry." He pulled her along the stairs to the first floor, and Lucius pressed a strange looking symbol on the marble slab above their head, and the wall burst open. They slipped out of the wide marble staircase. Narcissa was breathing deeply.

Professor Bastien pressed suddenly against her legs and wrapped himself through her gowns. Clearly, he supposed she must be trustworthy if Lucius had taken her through the secret passageways. She picked him up and held him against her chest, stroking his side fondly. This time, he didn't wriggle away.

Lucius opened and shut a closet door to make a noise as they heard their fathers on the staircase.

"And that's the cloak closet," he said ceremoniously, "We keep…cloaks in there."

"Bast is judging you," she whispered, turning so that the cat was facing Lucius. Indeed, a snide sort of expression crossed the cat's face as he looked upon his owner, who looked harried and sheepish.

Abraxas reached the last step and walked into the main foyer. "Children! Right where we've left you, with an extra family member, I see. I presume then that you were hosted properly by Lucius, no?"

"Oh, it was wonderful," she said, "I saw the gallery with the portraits you and Lady Malfoy collected. They were entrancing to say the least."

The parlor door opened and Ophelia and Druella appeared. Her mother looked anxious. Abraxas beamed at his wife, who shrieked in excitement.

"Oh! Mon amour, dis-moi que c'est vrai!" she gushed.

"Oui, c'est vrai. Votre fils sera marié," Abraxas replied, "And in English, my dear Black family. We have secured the contract for marriage so that it may be made public by Christmas."

Ophelia flung her arms around her son and sobbed, who was looking pale. She hugged him so tightly he coughed, struggling to breathe, but she continued to crush his ribcage with her arms encircled around him. When she pulled away, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"You have made me the proudest mother alive," she said, clutching him by the shoulders.

Narcissa glanced at her mother, who was watching the interaction with curious, raised eyebrows. She knew her mother was just as proud, but her reaction was subdued in front of strangers. Strangers, Narcissa realized, who were soon going to be her family.

"Wonderful," Cygnus announced, stepping forward and shaking Abraxas's hand formally, "We shall talk more about the wedding planning itself, with Druella, yes?"

"Of course," Abraxas said, his eyes narrowed some, his smile faltering.

"You'll forgive our haste then," Cygnus said, "We've much work to do now."

He opened the doors and walked out of them, slamming it shut behind him. Druella and Ophelia looked at one another, shocked.

"I'll start arranging the next phase right now, Druella, don't you worry," Ophelia said, patting her arm. She gave her a small hug. "Oh! Welcome to the family, Narcissa dear."

She hurried off to her parlor to avoid the awkwardness. Narcissa placed Bast gently onto the floor, and he too ran away from the palpably strange scene.

"Come, I'll walk you to the carriage," Lucius murmured, and walked her to the door.

As she slipped out of the door, she heard Abraxas say, "I'm sorry I could not save you from that brute of a man. But I did the best I could for your daughter."

Narcissa turned as the door closed. "What does he mean? He couldn't save her?"

"I don't know," Lucius said, shrugging, "He's never mentioned anything about it."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at the door. There was a mystery there. Her mother's ambition to win over Lucius, her the sheer joy she felt when she realized it was true. Was the reason she wanted her daughter to marry Lucius so badly because she had once wanted to become a Malfoy? And, Narcissa wondered, how close had her mother come to achieving that goal?

She shook herself from the mystery and smiled up at Lucius.

"Thank you," she said, "I know this wasn't what you wanted."

He nodded his head furtively. "This is the way to go."

"Are you sure?" she asked, smiling wryly, "You don't want to ask for another extension?"

Lucius laughed.

"I believe my mother would kill me," he said, sighing, "No. I would have waited…years more for this moment, but we will make the best out of it. I chose you because I wanted to."

Snow was falling rapidly in his hair and melting against his cheekbones, but he didn't seem to notice the cold.

"I quite like Professor Bastien," Narcissa commented, "It seemed he liked me—"

Lucius pressed his lips to hers suddenly, quieting any thought she had about a pet cat. He pulled away just as the front door opened, and her mother and Abraxas stepped out.

Hours after they arrived at home, Narcissa sat in her mother's parlor, watching Miss Priscila snooze, enamored by her now that she knew who she was. As she watched the cat sleep, Narcissa drew the Slytherin common room, with the tabby cat asleep before the fire, as she imagined she was every night when her mother was a girl. Her mother played piano softly in the corner of the room for the first time in over a decade.

When she finished, she placed the parchment on the piano where her mother could see it. She stopped playing and looked at it for a long moment, and a deep smile broke across her face. She teared up suddenly and wiped them away with her sleeve.

"I saw this every evening for seven years," she said softly, running her finger along the cat's figure.

"Mum," Narcissa said quietly, "Were you in love with Abraxas Malfoy?"

Druella laughed and wiped her tears away. She placed the drawing back on top of the piano and began playing again. "Good grief, Cissy, no. And even so, that was decades ago."

"He said he was sorry for not keeping you from marrying my father," Narcissa pointed out.

"Oh, that," she replied, "Yes, he wanted to marry me. Not because he was in love with me, but because he loved me, like a sister. It would have been an easy marriage to be arranged in, since we were friends."

Narcissa was skeptical. "Mother. I'm the only blonde in the family. It's not possible…?"

Druella turned scarlet.

" _Narcissa_! How dare you even suggest—I'm a married woman— _He_ is a married man!" she exclaimed, " _No_! You are not Lucius Malfoy's bastard sister. I would not let you marry him. The Rosier side has blondes. My sister, my mother, they were blondes."

She felt stupid for asking. Her mother kept playing softly, despite her flushed face.

"I'm sorry, it just seemed…" she trailed off, "I'm sorry you don't love my father."

Druella's face faltered. "Cissy, you shouldn't worry yourself about such things. It was not your doing."

"Have you ever been in love, Mum?" Narcissa pressed, "With anyone?"

"That's enough," her mother said, "Run along to bed now."

But Narcissa knew, by the sudden twinge of sadness that crossed her face, that her mother did know what it was like to be in love.


	11. 11

"In your eyes, there's a heavy blue

one to love, and one to lose.

Sweet divine, a heavy truth.

Water or wine, don't make me choose.

I wanna feel the way that we did that summer night,

Drunk on a feeling, alone with the stars in the sky."

 _Wolves_ by Selena Gomez

She tried to extinguish her palpable excitement as she stood in front of the wide hearth in an emerald green dress, her hands clasped in front of her. Lucius stood at her side, his breathing even, his face masked. But as he surreptitiously bumped his fingers against hers, they were trembling. She looked down the table at the other pale and nervous young faces, and she felt quite sorry for the ones that did not know their status. Some parents were cruel and let them find out at Christmas who they were going to spend the rest of their existence with.

"It is my great pleasure to announce our future this evening, in the beautiful House of Black," Abraxas Malfoy announced loudly, as he unfolded a lengthy bit of parchment.

From across the room, she saw her uncle sneer. The purple bruise round his right eye was hardly visible after a few spells, but his swollen lip still told the story of the violent row he and her father had gotten into in the foyer only this morning. Her mother had to put a leg locking curse on the two of them to get them to part. This was a catastrophic event that ended with Druella socking her Aunt Walburga straight into her fleshy stomach and punching her wand through Walburga's mouth, breaking some of her teeth. Bellatrix was quick to enter the skirmish and landed her own assaulting attacks on their Uncle Orion, but Narcissa had been frozen solid on the staircase with her younger cousin Sirius, and it took Regulus and Andromeda to pull everyone apart. Needless to say, Christmas was never boring at the Black Manor.

Abraxas waxed poetically about family and bloodlines. He spoke in length about a great-great-great-great grandfather of his that solidified the Malfoy standing in the Wizarding World in England, and Narcissa nearly yawned. The room was so tense that within ten minutes of the story, nearly everyone in the room was glaring at him. But Abraxas Malfoy was oblivious, or perhaps impervious, to their emotions. Finally, he cleared his throat and began reading off the list.

"Bellatrix Black to wed Rodolphus Lestrange," he announced.

There was flurry of mild clapping and mass confusion. The eldest daughter marrying a man slightly beneath her family status was intriguing, but not out of the ordinary. The number of girls this generation doubled that of the men.

"Narcissa Black to wed Lucius Malfoy," Abraxas said, beaming proudly.

There was a thunder of voices that echoed across the hall. She saw the fierce, straight forward expressions of hatred as dozens of eyes swiveled to her. Lucius shifted from foot to foot nervously, perhaps fighting the urge to flee as everyone looked at them. Narcissa stared absently back into the crowd, refusing to express a reaction for the general anger radiating toward her. She should have expected it, of course, there was only one Malfoy in this generation, as there had been for quite a few generations.

"Eugene Burke to wed Edward Bulstrode."

"Alecto Carrow to wed Franklin Zabini."

"Scarlett Greengrass to wed Leon Zabini."

"Juniper Nott to wed Regulus Black."

"Mara Parkinson to wed Candra Zabini."

Her stomach twisted at the mention of her best friend, but she refused to look for her in the crowd after their last row.

"Pearl Parkinson and Theodore Parkinson."

Lucius ducked behind her shoulder and started laughing hysterically.

"Anne Selwyn to wed Evan Rosier."

"Violet Travers to wed Achilles Yaxley."

Abraxas rolled up the parchment and threw it into the air. With a flick of his wand, it burst into thousands of red confetti. Lucius straightened his back, but he was still laughing. She nudged him in the side.

"Lucius, don't be cruel," she murmured, knowing well enough that she couldn't tell him what to do.

Theo made his way through the crowd over to them, his face ashen and stern. He found Lucius and shoved him angrily. "You git! I saw you laugh!"

Lucius replied, but Narcissa wasn't paying attention. She watched with fascination as Pearl's eyes fastened on Theodore, and the amount of revolusion that coursed through her body when she found him was intense. Her fists clenched against her dressing gown until Narcissa was sure the expensive silk was ruined from the wrinkles.

"Well, at least you will never have a holiday without your favorite cousin," Lucius said, his mouth twitching into a smirk as he tried, in vain, not to cripple himself with laughter again.

"Happy Christmas to me," Theo muttered glumly, "Meanwhile, you get Narcissa. Your folks choose her, then, I suppose?"

Lucius sobered when the conversation turned to him. He shook his head and replied airily, "No, I did."

"Really?" Theo raised his eyebrows. He looked over at Narcissa and dropped his eyes down her frame and then back to her face. He shrugged. "Wouldn't be my first choice, but then again, I didn't get to choose."

Narcissa glared at him. "I think your wife is waiting on you, Theodore."

He turned red at the mention of the word _wife_ , as if the word itself was cursed. And indeed, she surmised, his life just might be, living with the manic egotist Pearl Parkinson. Theo trudged off to find her and configure a truce, as were most of the other couples just announced. She even saw her sister shyly sidle up to Rodolphus Lestrange—and odd sight, as her sister wasn't introverted. Lucius, however, took her by the arm and led her out into the clear night. It was freezing cold, but the snow had ceased.

Beyond them were the shadowy outlines of tall trees, burdened under the weight of snow. In some parts, she knew the trees were so clustered together that snow wasn't even on the ground beneath the trunks. The earth was frozen in this state, and so she felt she was too. It was a long, sleepy winter, a season of waiting. The wind swirled around them and brought the sound of creaking limbs in an otherwise silent world.

His fingers were cold as they slipped through hers, and she looked at their hands twisted together, wondering what it all meant. He liked her enough, she supposed, to settle down with her. This furiously quiet man, stubborn and proud, unrelenting in his ambition and desire for personal freedom. This was the father of her future children—it was so now, for as long as they both lived. There was no going back on this night, it was forever written.

"You look surprisingly placid," she said, "for a boy whose mind is like an exploding star."

"I was only thinking how different it will be to not be alone in the world," he responded, without looking at her, "I've always felt this terrible loneliness, the likes of which I could never comprehend. To think that I might have someone…"

She said nothing, holding her breath, waiting for him to continue.

"Sometimes I wonder if I was sorted in the right house," he added, "or the right family, even. I just…" Lucius turned and looked at her. "So many things are chosen for us in our lifetime, things predetermined from our birth. I'm not good at making choices, I've never had the freedom to. And my one choice was you. It sounds stupid, but I'm not sure it was my decision at all—something bigger brought you here tonight, Narcissa Black. Something bigger made you mine."

Narcissa shook her head and cupped his face in her hand. She stood on her tip toes and kissed him gently. She pulled away from him, staring into his swirling, cloudy eyes. " _You_ brought me here," she told him.

He touched her hips and pressed his forehead against hers, deeply sighing. "What if I mess everything up?" he whispered quietly, "What if I'm not a good husband?"

"That's easy," she said, smiling. She ran her hand down the front, touching the folds of his cloak. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I'll poison your dinner."

He choked back laughter and threw his head back, and freely chuckled, unabashed. When he looked at her, she saw an undeniable expression of love, and knew for the first time that he was her home.

Christmas Day at the Black Manor proved most dreadful, between Andromeda's snide remarks and the bubbles of arguments that carried from her mother and father to her sister. Bellatrix opened presents and then retired to her bedroom and stayed there for the rest of the holiday. To Narcissa's great dismay, her Christmas gifts were practical ones—a wooden chest and various household items she would be required to take with her for her first year as a wife. In it were practical potions for curing various maladies ("In case Lucius is stricken with a cold," her mother explained) and various cookbooks and domestic How To's. Bellatrix received much the same—and Andromeda was gifted with an ancient looking book titled _The Pureblood Girl's Guide to Overcoming Insanity and other Curable Thoughts of Female Independence_. Narcissa thought, perhaps, that her mother surely purchased it knowing the contents were satire. Andy's mood significantly rose after she spent the next few hours giggling behind the book. Judging the harsh glare from her mother, she hadn't skimmed the contents before purchasing it.

The true reprieve from her family came the day they were returning to Hogwarts. She excitedly packed her trunks and followed her siblings to the carriage, eager to return. The family exploded into another argument regarding the ethics of owning house elves, which carried well onto the platform, in front of the red steam engine of the Hogwarts Express. Andromeda gave her parents the finger as she jumped onto the train, and then she stormed off, vowing she wouldn't be there next Christmas. Narcissa sighed and found the nearest compartment and stowed her trunks away.

She read quietly by herself for an hour or so before someone interrupted. She glanced up as the door slid open, expecting to see Lucius after his Prefect rounds, but Mara stood before her, holding something behind her back.

"Have you read _Witch's Weekly_?" she asked her curiously.

Narcissa rolled her eyes, but kept reading, "No, I haven't been keeping up with your stories."

"It's not my story you need to worry about," she said softly, and placed the magazine on the bench across from her:

NARCISSA BLACK WINS LUCIUS MALFOY

by Junior Editor Rita Skeeter

The Pureblood population is all aflutter after this winter's announcements of underage bride and grooms. Yes, that's right. It is tradition of The Sacred Twenty-Eight to parade their children and auction them off to the highest bidder. This year's selections were hardly of note (A Parkinson marrying a Parkinson, the rest practically marrying all Zabini boys available, _yawn_ ) except for two names: Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy.

For two years, Malfoy has eluded the nuptial gallows, convincing his parents and skating around the regulations of the Pureblood society. From nowhere, he is suddenly enamored with the pretty, but tumultuous blonde from the best known Blood Traitor family in the Sacred, Narcissa Black. With a tarnished family name and a penchant for climbing trees and wearing scantily clad Muggle clothes, Black somehow captured the heart and mind of the impressionable Malfoy. Readers want to know how a fifteen year old with ultimately very little personality or magical prowess managed to capture the interest of the wealthiest bachelor in the wizarding world.

A close source to Black told all on Christmas Day. The source, who wishes to be anonymous for fear of retaliation from the Black family, will be known henceforth as Annie Sanbergen. When asked if Sanbergen knows anything about the engagement, Annie states she knows the entire devious plot behind Black and Malfoy.

"Oh, it was a very obvious scheme," Sanbergen says, "Narcissa's mother, Druella Black, was desperate to push Narcissa onto him, going so far as to coach her on what to do and say to him while Narcissa was at Hogwarts. Narcissa is a mediocre artist and they peddled the artwork to his mother so that she could also sway Malfoy's hand into marrying Narcissa."

In what Sanbergen describes as a "disgusting" play against the Malfoys, she states that Narcissa once sat on her own staircase for nearly two and a half hours, perfectly poised, to capture Malfoy's attention and make herself seem interesting. Worse than that, Sanbergen says that Druella Black gave Narcissa _permission_ to consort with him sexually. Any means to achieve your ends indeed, Black. Sanbergen caught a peek at one letter reminding Narcissa that, "You are only interesting to him so long as you aren't like everyone else". Just how many women did Narcissa Black have to become? An estimated six hundred girls from all over the wizarding world, pureblood and muggle born alike, and Narcissa Black beating them all out means only one thing: Her talent is lying, not Herbology.

Narcissa flipped to the last page of the article and then looked up at Mara, "This was a cruel thing to have done, just because I wouldn't help you _steal_ potion ingredients from Slughorn."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mara replied innocently.

"Don't play daft," she said, "You were the only one that knew about the _one_ letter I wrote to my mother. You're the only one that knows I draw. I hope the money they gave you to be a source for this article gives you as much satisfaction and happiness as our friendship did, because as far as I'm concerned, our friendship is dead."

Narcissa slammed the door in Mara's face and sat down, nearly shaking from rage. The article did not disturb her. Lucius had little interest in gossip and was rather acquainted with it surrounding him, but the betrayal of her best friend cut her deep.

Twenty or so minutes after Mara left, Lucius opened the door and slid inside. He closed the door and held up another copy of the magazine, wincing. She looked up from her book and sighed. He glanced at the bench across from her. Her feet were resting on the other side near the magazine Mara left behind.

"Ah, good, you've read it," he replied cheerfully, and sat down across from her, to left of her ankles.

Narcissa grimaced and turned the page of her book. "Suppose you want to know about the contents?"

"There was one particular passage that interests me," he said, "When your mother gave you permission to consort sexually with me, was that an _all things go_ sort of pass, or strictly above the waist? Asking for a friend, of course."

She looked at him and bit her lip to keep from smiling.

"I assume Mara is Annie Sanbergen. Sanbergen having the same number of syllables as Parkinson, after all."

"Sanbergen was the villain of a detective story she wrote when we were children," she replied, "She probably didn't think I would remember."

Lucius nodded his head and dropped both magazine into a tiny waste basket beneath the benches. He draped his legs across her bench and crossed his ankles.

"They tortured my mother for two years before they let up," Lucius said, "It's why my parents left. They spent nearly four years abroad before they felt comfortable enough to come back home. Don't let it bother you too much, Narcissa, it's not your fault. It's the Malfoy name."

She nodded her head. Narcissa was a Black, and Blacks remained steady, pure, even in a time of crisis. She knew there was no reason to cry, that there was no reason to worry or even think about it. The knife Mara plunged into her chest was a gift, a blessing that she did not have to bring their twisted friendship into adulthood. She knew this, and yet inside she was screaming.

"I'll be fine," she told him, sounding braver than she felt.

But she wasn't fine, and he knew that, and Lucius being who he was, wouldn't stand for it. As they collected their things and left the train, Lucius walked behind her in the line. Students pressed the article against the window and gossiped—whispers drifted across the train as she stepped down the metal stairs to the grounds, fueling Lucius's temper. She stopped to let a group of Ravenclaw first years clamber into a carriage first, when she heard a deafening crack of bone against bone from behind her.

She twisted around and dropped her trunk in the snow. Lucius was embroiled in a fight with Candra Zabini, whose nose was pouring blood down his robes. He was stunned for the first second after Lucius landed a punch against him, and then he reacted, snarling, and swung at Lucius. Mara, who had been walking with her betrothed, stepped back and gasped in shock. Candra and Lucius were good friends.

"Lucius!" Narcissa yelled, and pressed her hand against his shoulder, ripping him back from Candra, "She isn't worth it and Candra is innocent, so stop!"

He was breathing hard but didn't lunge at Candra again with her palm flat against his chest. His lip was busted and bleeding freely down his chin. He glared at Mara and she yanked him by his front to the nearest carriage and pushed him in. As she clambered into the carriage herself, she caught a glimpse of the splashes of blood in the snow and shuddered.

Fifteen minutes later, she sat on the counter in the boy's bathroom and dipped a cloth in warm water and witch hazel and pressed it lightly to his lip to clean the wound. The lights above the sinks bathed them in a warm glow and she was quite certain they were the only ones awake in the whole castle for it was so quiet.

"You need not defend my honor, Lucius," she said, as she placed the cloth in the bowl next to her. She pulled her wand out and muttered a spell she had heard her mother say a million times, and watched his skin reknit itself together. "Especially not at the expense of yourself."

He smiled and then winced, his lip was still tender. "I've wanted to hit Candra for a few years now. Mara just gave me motive."

"He seems like a nice boy," she said, "I hope your friendship can withstand a few blows to the head."

Lucius didn't seem to mind, but Narcissa didn't like this path he was taking, one where he broke every alliance he had to prove his devotion to her. He did not need to. She knew he was otherworldly, the boy who broke her chains and wrapped her up in his arms.

As they walked through the dungeons to the common room, they turned a corner and saw Bellatrix standing with her hand cupped to her mouth. From between her hands they saw blue flames licking up her fingers.

"Of course, I will," she whispered, "I am your vessel, my Lord."

She walked down the hall, her body dragging creepily, her hands cupped to her mouth. Narcissa's eyes were wide as saucers as she looked at Lucius, who pulled her behind him protectively until they reached the common room.

"I don't know what that was," he whispered, "but it looked like Dark Magic."

Bellatrix looked like an addict riddled skeleton with overlarge eyes attached to her skull. Narcissa frowned deeply, but there was hardly anything she could do. Bellatrix was not one that someone could cross.


	12. 12

"When they ask you why you love

the rain, the ocean, the river,

tell them

it is because

unlike people who should have

loved you better,

the water was never afraid to touch you;

even when you were

at your most damaged

and broken."

Nikita Gill

SPRING

There was a special kind of sadness that came with spring. The ground thawed slowly at first, the powder of ice and snow that melted from the swaying branches of trees and slid to the ground with heavy thumps. With the rebirth of life came the swift winds and rain. For days, she scribbled her way through her studies as the school ramped up for end of the year exams. The students trudged their way to and from the castle in various states of dampness or muddiness, constantly dredging mud through the foyer. Filch took post outside the door and screamed for students to wipe their feet, though it did little good when their robes were dripping.

Narcissa came in from a rather powerful rainstorm for lunch. She whipped her wand through her hair quickly to dry it as she took a seat and syphoned the water into a vase left by the door. She did the same with her robes and walked through the doors to the Great Hall, feeling relieved to be dried. Lucius sat at their usual spot, chatting amicably with Abraham Nott and a younger boy, Severus Snape, who had taken the spot Candra vacated after he and Lucius had squabbled. It was different to sit with a group of boys, who mostly talked about school, Quidditch, or politics they were privy to hearing from their fathers. The girls weren't supposed to have an opinion on the political leanings of their society, but the future heads of families had a wealth of knowledge, and she drank it up.

"Father wrote today to tell me a traveling salesperson from Borgin and Burke's came up to the door," Nott said to Lucius, whose brow was deeply furrowed, "Looking for Pureblood historical artefacts. Like any one of us would sell."

Narcissa arranged her plate for lunch and glanced up. "Borgin and Burkes…that's a shop in Knockturn Alley, right?"

"Yes," Severus replied flatly, staring over at her disapprovingly.

Though young, he apparently thought less of her for being a woman and contributing to their conversation. She narrowed her eyes at him shrewdly. She wasn't overly fond of him, but he was keen and useful. One evening, she was huddled over in a chair, her head near bursting with pain from a headache, and he swiftly cured her with a tonic he invented himself. While she also feared he might poison her, his gift wasn't something to ignore.

"Mara and I saw it last summer," she remarked, looking over at Lucius, "When Mara brandished her wand at a vampire…" It sounded so ridiculous now, she couldn't help but wince. Lucius smiled.

"Burke is one of the Twenty-Eight," Lucius commented, "They're privy to their own relics, then. It's common knowledge that the historical items stay in their respective families in their vaults."

"Vaults?" Narcissa repeated.

Lucius hadn't considered that no one had told her before. "Sure, every family has them somewhere. In Gringotts or in their homes, though I'd say it's quite a bit safer outside the home."

She knew of no such relics for the Blacks. Perhaps they were left in some underground vault, deep beneath the city, and she never saw them. Her parents had heirlooms, sure, though they weren't necessarily worth much. Old portraits of Blacks and silver, a few jewels from old family members. Nothing necessarily worth so much that a man would come to their door asking around for them.

"I'm shocked there isn't a kind of museum or festival set up for every member to view the pieces," Narcissa said, "Surely there are better uses for them than gathering dust in a vault somewhere."

"When you take over the world with Lucius," Theo Parkinson announced, as he dropped onto the bench across from her, "You can do just that."

Lucius shrugged nonchalantly. "He isn't wrong. My mother is in charge of scheduling the community events for the year to make sure they go smoothly. The Sacred Twenty Eight balls are a mess. All of the lower level families squabble over dates."

"Like the Notts," Abraham said, smiling wryly, "Mum's always fighting to get as far away from the Malfoy summer ball as possible, since it overshadows everything, but N comes right after M, so it's just logical…"

Severus Snape wasn't part of the pureblood society, in fact, he was a halfblood, so she watched with mild interest as he turned his food over on his spoon and pretended the lines in the wood table was of high interest to him as the boys mulled over the different scheduled events each year. Narcissa empathized with him. The conversation was droll. She looked up the table, her eyes slowly flicking across Mara, the betrayer, to the top where Bellatrix sat, her hair flat looking and unkempt. She was carefully rearranging her plate to make it appear that she was eating, a trick she learned from their mother when she wanted to lose weight. Narcissa felt a bubble of nerves reach her stomach, the yearning she felt to reach out and save her, catch her before she fell off the proverbial cliff, but she didn't know _what_ was happening to her sister, nor did she know how to save her. The logical speculation is that she was depressed from her betrothal, but that seemed further from the truth. Twice, Narcissa had come back from the library rather late and found Bellatrix and Rodolphus entangled with one another on the couch in front of the fire. Whoever that man was that her sister invited to her bedroom in the middle of the night, he seemed to be far from her mind. Still, she couldn't help but worry.

As for her other sister, Andromeda was hardly seen in the common room. She spent all of her time studying, and sometimes Narcissa caught sight of her around the stack of books on the table. She was irritable and quick to snap or yell—she brought several first year girls to tears one evening when they made the mistake of levitating a book across the room as practice for Charms.

"Lucius, it's your final summer of freedom _and_ you're done with school," Theo said, "Tell me you're planning something."

Lucius was busy picking off every vegetable he could from his plate, and he looked up and shook his head. "No, no, I'm not going to do anything."

Theo pounded the table with his fist, eliciting several people to glance sideways at him. "I won't stand for it! You _have_ to do something. You're about to spend an eternity with Narcissa."

"Excuse you," she cut in, narrowing her eyes.

Theo shook his head, "Listen, you don't understand. Before my sister went Grindelwald on us, Cissy was at my house all the time. I grew _up_ with her. You have no idea how annoying she is."

"Now that I think of it, you and Pearl deserve each other," Narcissa said, "I had my doubts, but now I see it."

Lucius placed his palms against each other and knitted his fingers together, his eyes glittering mischievously, "Do tell us, then Theodore, some of Narcissa's secrets."

Theo smirked broadly over at Narcissa, who gave him a severe death glare. The turn of conversation mildly sparked Severus's interest, whom was now at least looking in their direction.

"All right, I've got one," he said, "Petrified, absolutely _terrified_ of—"

"Theodore," Narcissa warned.

" _Beetles_ ," he finished, "And guess what? Snakes!"

"Snakes, really?" Lucius remarked, turning to Narcissa he added teasingly, "Are you certain you're in the right house?"

Narcissa slapped his arm and the group exploded into peals of laughter—everyone that was, but Severus Snape, whose lip was curling in disgust as he looked at her. She finally couldn't stand it anymore, and she stared back at him.

"Severus," she said evenly, "Is there a particular reason you hate me?"

His eyes darted away from hers quickly. He shot a glance to Lucius and then back to the table, but Narcissa hadn't wanted to bully him.

"No really," she said, "Answer the question. Is it because I'm a girl?"

He looked up at her and glared. "No. It's because you don't appear to be particularly useful at anything…everyone else here contributes something intellectually."

Ah, yes, so because she was a girl, Narcissa thought bitterly. Forever the implication that a girl must be forthright with her obvious intelligence or otherwise appear daft. She held her tongue at this; arguing on the side of women against a group of adolescent boys was a pointless endeavor.

"Everyone?" she repeated, "What on earth do you think Theo contributes _intellectually_?"

"Severus, you should know that Narcissa is just as capable as anyone at this table," Lucius said, interrupting Theo, ("Hey, that's not fair!") his voice oddly kind toward the boy.

Nott nodded and rubbed a napkin across his lips, "Yeah, Snape, have you seen her drawings? Lucius's got a whole drawer of her work. And Professor Sprout's always going on about how talented she is in Herbology. She'd be dead useful to you with your potions work."

She added, "I specialize in mundane plants, the ones that act as the basis for many potions. I'm just not a renowned duelist like my sister, Bellatrix or a Charms aficionado like Andy."

He didn't seem particularly impressed by her, but he quit simpering. After lunch, she walked up the stairs with the group. She had Transfiguration next, which was her second best subject next to Herbology. They passed the second floor near the girl's bathroom, which was flooded with water. Dungbombs were still exploding from inside and Narcissa held her nose as they passed.

"Peeves," Lucius muttered, sighing heavily as they took the next set of stairs.

Abraham and Theo cut out of their group to duck into their Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, but Narcissa and Lucius still had a way to go before they reached their respective classrooms. As they rounded the corner, a group of Gryffindors were huddled together before class. One turned, and she recognized him as the boy that split open Mara's bag earlier in the year. He caught her eye and turned a particular shade of purple.

"You!" he shouted, stepping out of his group and pulling his wand out, "Look at what we have here. Not quite so fearsome without your whole house trying to pull one over me, are you?"

"I'm a Prefect, I would watch your tongue," Lucius snapped, stepping in front of Narcissa, bearing down on the Fourth year threateningly.

"A slimy Prefect," the boy quipped, turning his nose up at Lucius, "That probably licks on Slughorn's hairy sack just to get in his club."

"My, what a mouth on that one," Lucius drawled, stepping up to him. His wand was hidden at his sleeve, "I could turn you in and make you suffer at the hands of Filch, but I don't think that's quite enough, do you? I want to tear you to pieces _myself_."

"Lucius, let's just go," Narcissa said.

They were outnumbered five to two; it was hardly fair. She slipped her wand from her pocket as a Gryffindor girl stood at the boy's shoulder, glaring at her.

With a blinding white flash, Lucius blasted the other Gryffindor's down the corridor. He took the boy by the scruff of his robes and threw him into an empty classroom. Narcissa slipped in quickly before the Gryffindors could get back up. Lucius was so furious that the doors locked by itself, and a powerful rune appeared above the door, silencing the noise. The boy fell and scrabbled backward as Lucius slowly walked toward him.

This was the first instance she learned that Lucius Malfoy could be cruel. He slammed the boy's arm against a desk and pointed his wand to it, carefully eyeing him with a kind of coldness in his demeanor she had never seen before.

"I'll etch a cursed rune into your arm," he murmured, so low that she almost couldn't hear him, "So that every time you inhale, you'll be met with blinding pain, the likes of which you cannot fathom."

The Gryffindor swore, but his resolve was waning.

"What's your name?" Lucius asked lightly, running his wand up the trail of the boy's vein, "Are we shy now that our friends aren't around? What was it you said? Ah, yes—we're not so fearsome now that our house isn't around to defend us, but it seems like it's just the two of us, and yet…where's your _bravery_?"

He clucked his tongue and glared but didn't utter a word.

"Your name," Lucius demanded, his voice like silk, "Please, for the lady. So, she can _hear_ you."

"Gideon Treble," he said through gritted teeth.

Lucius's fingers suddenly snaked around the back of his neck and he shoved him against the desk. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," he said, slamming his head against the desk. He yanked the boy's face back up; his mouth was covered in blood. "Narcissa, did you hear what he said?"

"Lucius," Narcissa replied evenly.

"Did you tell her your filthy, pathetic, little name?" Lucius asked him, "Or do I have to remind you of that useful little rune I know?"

"G-Gideon," he said, shaking.

"I didn't quite catch that either," he said, slamming his head against the desk, harder this time. The boy broke into sobs, and blood spurted from his forehead.

She saw the cruelty, the stark coldness in Lucius's expression, and it occurred to her suddenly the measure of power she had over him, that he would torture a boy if it meant defending her name. And some girls dreamed of a strong man that would vanquish her enemies, that would throw caution to the wind to ensure her safety and reputation, but Narcissa wasn't impressed by this display of violence.

"That's enough," she said, and approached the table.

She tapped her wand against the table and siphoned the blood from the boy's face and table. She knitted his skin together and muttered a pain incantation. She watched it slowly spread across his face and arms, warming him, until he couldn't feel any pain.

"He deserves worse," Lucius said with conviction.

"Yes, but he's just a boy," she replied shortly, touching his hand. She watched Lucius critically for a few moments, and he released his hold on the back of his neck.

Gideon took this opportunity and fled from the room.

"You should be careful," Narcissa said, slowly lifting her eyes to his face, "with that much rage buried inside of you."

"I would never hurt you," he replied fiercely, his eyes flashing, "You shouldn't fear me."

"I'm not afraid of you," she replied softly, "I'm afraid _for_ you."

But Lucius wasn't listening to her. He was seventeen and bursting with blind loyalty toward her, but more than that—she sensed he wanted to impress her, to prove his worth as a husband. Lucius was not, she discovered, a quiet intellectual gifted in Herbology, but something altogether more wild, a stubborn man who threw runes on doors and threatened to curse fourteen year old boys. She knew what being wild meant. She just hoped he could control it.

If Gideon went to a professor about what Lucius had done, they didn't believe him. Lucius was a model student, albeit a flighty prefect, but that wasn't known to anyone beyond Andromeda and now Narcissa. Even her sister wasn't stupid enough to let a Malfoy flounder in a crisis.

Lucius walked her to Transfiguration. As she stopped just outside of the hall, he touched her hand delicately, and when his eyes met hers, they were pools of lovely silver, delicate and gentle as she'd always seen them. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and without another word, turned and walked down the opposite end of the corridor. And her face burned the rest of the class from the gesture.

Without Mara, there was no one to discuss in great detail the various things Lucius said or did, and so her girlish affections stayed inside her, bubbling. She couldn't tell either of her sisters; Andy thought she was enslaved cattle, waiting to be slaughtered, and while she could physically see Bellatrix in the castle, she wasn't quite sure where her mind was traveling. Despite this, she hardly felt alone. In Mara's absence, Lucius had taken up the space, and their burgeoning friendship was deeply blossoming. She grew to love his company as a friend just as much as she felt her cheeks go hot when he kissed her.

Narcissa kissed Lucius goodbye in front of everyone as she left the common room that evening, and her spirits were lighter than ever. She climbed the stairs to the Astronomy tower. As she walked down the hall, she came upon Bellatrix, whose eyes were hardened, staring at the window. Narcissa debated. She might be late to class if she stopped to talk to her sister, but she looked to haunted. Narcissa pulled her bag higher on her shoulders.

"Bella…" Narcissa murmured.

Her sister didn't flinch or seem to notice her presence. Narcissa awkwardly took a step backward. Perhaps she was pretending she hadn't noticed her so that she would go away. She started to go back to class, when she heard Bellatrix speak.

"If only I were enough," she murmured, her jaw trembling.

"Enough for what?" Narcissa asked, rushing back to her side.

She followed her sister's eyes and saw a bright green light dotted across the lake, piercing through the night air. She watched Bellatrix put her hand on the window and cover the light with her fingers, reaching, reaching, reaching, as if she would eventually feel its warmth if she tried hard enough.

Narcissa felt the pull of magnetic yearning from her sister, and she thought she understood it, for there was always something that was urging her on. Something that tugged on her sleeve and beckoned her to try one more time, to keep fighting. For Bellatrix, it was something altogether different, something Narcissa wasn't sure she would ever understand. As her eyes leveled with the light and she stared into its depth, the answer became clear to her too: everything she wanted was just beyond the edge of the lake, all she had to do was reach.

She skipped Astronomy that night and found Lucius in his dorm room. He was lying on his back, sprawled out with a book in his hand. He was attempting to study, but his eyes were cloudy and tired. She opened the door and dropped her back down by the door. The other boys glanced her way and then to Lucius, whose attention was now drawn to her, and they cleared out of the room. He didn't move as she approached him and sat on the edge of his bed, until she opened her mouth to say the words and then couldn't. He sat up on the bed and watched her, and she anguished over this, the way he knew when to speak and when to simply listen, the delicate balance that required him to know parts of her.

"I love you," she said suddenly.

A small, amused smile crossed his face and he closed the book. He dropped it on his night stand and drew his knees to his chest.

"I have loved you in every conceivable life I've ever lived and will live," he replied, "Narcissa Black."

Her name curling from his tongue sounded like poetry.

She couldn't help but smile, and with a laugh, she said, "To not have you by my side every second on the day is a knife twisting into my chest."

They laughed, but Narcissa had not understood the sentiments of Abraxas Malfoy until she met his son.


	13. 13

"He saw the gardens of her soul…

wild, unruly, and blooming

like crazy. And he fell in love

with the scent of her survival."

Alfa

One crisp Saturday morning in May came with a startling pale yellow sun that lightly warmed the grass, and Narcissa couldn't keep herself inside if she tried. She sat on top of a large bolder by the lake, watching the water rise and fall, lapping up against the shore. She balanced her journal against her bent thigh as she drew the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. The wind picked up around her softly, blowing her hair out behind her shoulders, the light pieces falling in tendrils down her back. The reemergence of spring and the onset of summer breathed exquisite life into her. Like the flowers, she seemed to nestle deep in sleep until the sun peaked out over the sky, and warmth washed over her.

The morning passed peacefully, but by ten o'clock, students were coming to mill around her, along the sprawling lawns, and chatter and play stirred behind her. She secured her journal in her bag on the dry side of the rock, and curled one leg beneath the other, staring out at the lake. It was peaceful still, listening to the buzz of life happening behind her. Their classes were ruthlessly difficult, each professor assigning mountains of homework to prepare them for their O.W.L.S, and though most of them should have been in the castle studying today, the weather was too good to pass up.

She climbed down from the boulder when her legs began to ache, and she settled onto the grass to read. As she rummaged through her bag, she saw Mara staring at her from across the lawn, looking rather sorrowful. But Narcissa, stubborn as she was, felt no reason to apologize or mollify her, as she hadn't done anything wrong. She watched Mara stand up and walk toward her, and Narcissa sighed heavily and scoffed. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned her back against the cool stone, dropping the book down beside her.

"Narcissa," Mara said, clipped.

"Yes, Mara?" she asked, sighing, "Here to give me another article you helped smear me in?"

Mara shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment, Bellatrix appeared by her. She looked oddly well-rested and healthy, her curls wild in the light breeze, massive bottle-brush curls shaped around her face.

"Haven't seen _you_ in a long time," Bella remarked.

"What's it to you?" Mara asked, her cheeks bruising pink.

Bellatrix eyed her. "I don't care about you, it was just an observation. I need to speak to my sister…so flutter off to…wherever you came from, please, Parkinson."

"You think you're so cool," Mara argued, "But you're just a _slut_ marrying a Lestrange."

In true Bellatrix fashion, she appeared unphased by the emotions of others around her. Narcissa stood up and glared at Mara, but Bella looked at her impassively. She stared at her until Mara became uncomfortable with her gaze and averted her eyes to the ground. In the second she looked down, Bellatrix struck.

" _Anteoculatia!"_ Bellatrix muttered.

Narcissa watched in horror as large antlers began sprouting from Mara's hair. Her sister looked dreadfully bored by the spectacle before her. Mara whipped out her wand, but she was too slow. She was no match for Bellatrix, who had a knack for dueling. Before Mara could lift her wand to Bellatrix, a string of curses had already flown from her, and Mara was blasted across the grass and onto her back. Her antlers sprouted and tangled together in place of her hair. Bellatrix put her in a full binding body curse and red boils erupted across her face.

Streams of students came to help until they realized it was three Slytherins, and then they seemed to reconsider. Some stayed to watch Bellatrix in action. Narcissa was calm until she heard a roar of anger, and Candra Zabini came marching across the field.

"Why won't the both of them just go _away_?" Narcissa muttered.

Bellatrix shrugged. "They're stupid."

"Filthy, stinking blood traitor family!" Candra snarled, yanking his wand from his robes and pointing it at the both of them. "This is what the Black family has given us, three useless, brainless _girls._ Where's your precious Malfoy now, Narcissa? Not so brave without your man around."

"I'm easily worth two men," Bellatrix said lightly, twirling her wand around her fingers, "Would you like me to show you?"

Candra raised his wand and screamed, hurling a curse directly at Narcissa's chest. Narcissa transfigured her bag into an umbrella and opened it as ice poured from Candra's wand to block the spell. Bellatrix melted the ice with fire pouring from the end of her wand and caught Candra in the stomach with an arrow that she transfigured from a rock. He yanked the arrow out and grit his teeth, blood pooling against his dark robes. He suddenly turned his attention and reversed the spells on Mara, freeing her from Bellatrix's spell work.

"GET THEM!" he shouted at her.

" _Baubillious!_ " Mara yelled, pointing her wand at Narcissa.

She took the hit in the arm, and ducked around Bellatrix to cast Bluebell Flames, setting Mara's robes on fire. She immediately started screaming. With a blast from Bellatrix's wand, the ground near Candra exploded, creating a crater on the lawn, and seven overlarge serpents slithered out of the hole, shooting toward him aggressively.

" _CONFUNDUS!"_ Candra shouted.

The shiny black serpents blinked and swiveled around, unsure of whom to attack. Bellatrix scowled and transfigured them back into rocks. She shot a burst of bright green light from the tip of her wand and Mara deflected it with an arc of lake water she conjured from the shore.

The other students had given the scene a large berth, and someone had created a defensive barrier to keep errant spells from hitting other students. Candra and Mara were too slow for Bellatrix, who mastered nonverbal spells in her fourth year. They blocked her onslaught of spells with shields but were eager to hex her. Once, Candra caught her in ice, but Narcissa sent another stream of blue flame around the ice to set her free.

"This is all you've got?!" Candra shouted, but he was panting fiercely and growing tired.

" _Tarantallegra_!"

Narcissa hit Mara squarely and her legs shot up around her. Her wand sparked in her hand, but her legs kept moving. She was so out of control that she danced all the way across to the lake and fell into the water, twitching uncontrollably.

" _Immobulus_!" She shouted to Candra, who froze mid-fire, his face taught in fury and hatred.

"Enough," she told them.

" _BELLATRIX AND NARCISSA BLACK_!"

Five adults were streaming across the lawns—Professor Flitwick, Slughorn, Vector, Kettleburn, and McGonagall.

" _Blasting holes into the lawns_!" McGonagall shouted. " _Hexing_ students!"

Professor Vector passively performed the counter-charms to Candra and Mara, and McGonagall glared at the both of them.

"I would have expected more out of _you_ , at the very least, Narcissa!" Professor McGonagall said, her nostrils flaring, "Horace, I entrust you to deal with them, as this remarkable foolishness is the result of your house."

Slughorn stepped forward curiously and surveyed the damaged to the lawns. Kettleburn smoothed the hole with a wave of his wand. Grass sprouted immediately from the freshly turned earth when he was done. Slughorn looked up at Narcissa and she could have sworn she saw him wink.

"Oh, yes, of course, Minerva," he said, "These things happen, you know, the stress from exams. O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S. coming up for each of you, I believe! Perhaps a visit to Hogsmeade should be in order, rather. A butterbeer goes a long way in calming the test anxiety!"

McGonagall rounded on him. "You aren't suggesting _rewarding_ them for this? They could have seriously harmed each other—Mr. Zabini is bleeding! You give me no choice, Horace. I must tell Dumbledore and their parents."

"For a first time offense!" Slughorn argued, "Nonsense, good, old fashioned detention will sort things right out."

"And this is precisely why this escalated in the first place," McGonagall muttered.

Slughorn looked uncomfortable. He adjusted the spectacles on his face. "Well then, the four of you to my office now, we'll discuss your punishment."

Bellatrix and Narcissa exchanged exasperated looks as they followed Slughorn into the castle. Mara and Candra trailed behind them, looking furious. They ducked down into the dungeons and Slughorn opened his lavish office space cheerfully.

"Shut the door behind you, dear!" he called to Mara.

He sat behind his desk. "Now, for detentions…"

The door burst open, and Lucius and Andromeda appeared. The two had clearly sprinted to get here, as they were out of breath.

"Professor, you have to listen to reason, my sisters have never done anything like this before!" Andromeda squeaked.

"I'm certain it was severely provoked by these two," Lucius finished.

His Prefect badge seemed shinier, more proudly pinned to his chest. Slughorn looked between the two of them and then chuckled.

"Relax, my Prefects, it's only a small squabble. Of course, if I don't do a bit of proper punishing, it will seem cruelly unfair," he said, "So, two points per person from Slytherin, of course, that shouldn't put us below Gryffindor, and Andromeda can reclaim them on Monday in class. Now, while you should _never_ do such a thing every again, it merits expulsion…what an _exquisite_ showcase of talent!"

Narcissa exhaled, her temper starting to flair. If her punishment was to join the Slug Club, she would march to Dumbledore's office and demand he expel her and snap her wand in half.

"Candra, we'll assign you detention with Filch—sorry boy, he'll only have you clean the trophy room…ah, yes, Mara, well, Professor Sprout was needing assistance uprooting Mandrakes for the second years and since you were excused for Herbology, we can assign you that task."

Mara's face paled. She hated being dirty.

"You're excused, both of you," he said.

They trudged from the office. Candra bumped Lucius's shoulder menacingly. Lucius clenched his hands but couldn't retaliate with Slughorn in the room.

"Andromeda, I presume you can watch over Bellatrix's detention, arranging the student potion's stock and refilling it," Slughorn said, sounding bored, "Lucius, let's schedule Narcissa to clean the cauldrons this evening. Do watch over her and make sure she follows through."

"Of course, sir," Lucius replied, a small smile playing across his lips. He dipped his head in a small bow to hide it.

"Very well," he said, clapping his hands together, "We've accomplished our due diligence in this matter. I must say, you're a clever girl, Narcissa Black, transfiguring your bag into an umbrella. And those must have been the most handsome serpents I've had the pleasure of seeing!"

Neither one of them blushed under the scrutiny of compliments, but Bellatrix did look pleased.

"Swift, direct execution of advanced spell work," he murmured, clucking his tongue, "If McGonagall hadn't shown up, we all would have continued standing on the outside of the ring watching. Pity. Anyway, off you four go!"

Narcissa sighed as they left his office.

"I can't believe you two did that!" Andy said, breathing excitedly, "I was in the Great Hall when some Gryffindors ran in and shouted that Slytherins were outside having a brawl. I figured it was Zabini versus Zabini."

"No, just the peasants trying to usurp the royal family," Bellatrix remarked haughtily.

Lucius let them into the common room, and Bellatrix left to sit with Rodolphus.

Andromeda rounded on Narcissa. "You're just lucky you're in Slytherin. Any other house, and you'd be expelled."

"They started it," she argued.

Andromeda sighed. "I know you're getting married, so nothing you learn here matters…" Lucius screwed up his face to argue, but she kept going. "But you should know that…whatever just happened, you can hold your own, Cissy. Not many people can keep up with Bella in a duel and you…were a perfect partner."

She turned and hurried off to the desk she had clearly been occupying before and disappeared behind the stacks of books. Narcissa and Lucius sat in front of the fire. Lucius laid across the couch, laying his head in her lap. She ran her fingers luxuriously through his hair as she thought about what her sister said.

"I can't help but be furious with myself for not being witness to you dueling," he commented, and then he sighed heavily, "But I know if I had been there, I would have tried to step in so you didn't have to."

She idlily separated his hair into sections and braided long pieces. She shrugged her shoulders. "They started it," she said, "Well, _Mara_ insulted Bellatrix and Candra came to defend her when Bellatrix turned her into a freakshow."

He laughed quietly, "There's few people on the planet that I would never dare cross, and your sister is one of them."

"She can barely summon the energy up to feel emotions, but she's the fastest duelist I've ever seen," Narcissa said. Praising her sister wasn't hard, she was nimble and agile, her mind coming in shockingly clear. She almost couldn't distinguish that version of her from the sleepy, summer Bellatrix that laid in bed all day, or the manic one that held flames to her mouth and spoke mad words about being someone's vessel.

It suddenly occurred to her that Bellatrix had approached Narcissa for a reason. She looked around the common room—Bellatrix and Rodolphus were playing chess.

"Bella!" Narcissa called across the room, ignoring the passing glances toward her.

"Cissy," she replied, her voice flat and monotonous again. She didn't look from the chess board.

"What was it you wanted from me earlier?" she asked.

Bellatrix guided a piece to a square in front of Rodolphus and destroyed his King. She stood up, her lean body was too pale and too thin, but she sidled across the room looking oddly cat-like. She slipped into the chair by the fire and leaned in on her elbows. She scanned the room for prying ears quickly, and then said:

"I was going to tell you that Rodolphus convinced Peeves to twist up a pipe in the Prefect's bathroom and flood everything, but then Rod fixed it, so all of the other prefects still think it's broken and aren't going in," she said, "Just in _case_ you and Lucius wanted some…relaxing time away from studies."

Lucius smiled, looking both impressed and smug. "I'm beginning to like you, Bellatrix."

As Bellatrix promised, the Prefect's bathroom was empty with a sign over the door that said, "Out of Order", but Lucius knew the password just the same, and he opened the door. The overlarge room was glittering, polished and scrubbed clean. Dozens of taps and perfumes surrounded the bathtub, as large as an inground pool. She saw rows of steam showers in a small hall to the right of them. Narcissa dropped her bag onto the wooden bench by the door as Lucius performed a locking charm on the door. She inhaled heavily and walked across the room.

The water began to fill as she stepped near it. She watched the overlarge jets on each side of the tub, pulsing water into the depths. Narcissa watched the water rise, and with the churning water came a wave of nerves. She was scarcely naked in front of anyone in her family; the idea of being so exposed in front of Lucius was frightening. She slipped her robes over her head and dropped them onto the shiny tile beneath her feet. She was wearing silk shorts and a matching, light silk, thin strapped shirt.

"Where did you get that?" Lucius asked suddenly, as he approached her.

His eyes were fastened on the thin line of a scar that arced across both of her shoulders.

"Fell out of a tree when I was six," she explained, pulling her hair over her shoulder so that he could see It fully, "A branch caught me across the shoulders."

His finger traced the line from the left side to the right. "I want to see every facet of you," he spoke softly, "Every mark of perfection, every scar…every wild thing inside of you."

She inhaled sharply. Letting someone in wasn't what she was programmed to do. The trees knew her secrets, every tear she had been too proud to cry in front of her family. The trouble with letting him in was that he would know precisely how to destroy her.

"I'm afraid, Lucius," she murmured softly, "the scar only scratches the surface."

"I know," he replied, and she heard a shuffling of clothing as he pulled off his robes. She turned to face him. He pressed his lips against hers urgently, his hand cupping the side of her jaw. He broke apart, lightly biting her lip. She gasped.

They did not give themselves to one another that night, but they considered it, under the haze of perfume and warm water. She traced every outline out of his body with her lips as he sat on the edge of the tub, and she dipped her head between his legs. He rested his back against the cold tile, his hair splayed around his head. He clutched the edge of the pool until his knuckles were white, until the pressure was too much. And his eyes fluttered closed, his mouth opened, and she heard him gasp, his chest heaving, until he was finished.


	14. 14

"Moon dust in your lungs,

stars in your eyes.

You are a child of the cosmos,

a ruler of the skies."

GW

Narcissa was woken before dawn. Her eyes fluttered open. Bellatrix was hovering over her with her hand covering Narcissa's mouth, her eyes wild and full of excitement. Her other hand was clutching her wand. As Narcissa roused, she shoved her hand off of her mouth, and yawned. Bellatrix was practically bouncing, vibrating from her own energy.

"It's _time_ , Cissy!" she hissed, "Come, dress fast, we've got to get out of here before anyone else wakes."

"What?" she asked, but before she could ask further questions, Bellatrix dragged her from her bed.

She waited while Narcissa pulled her school robes on. She barely had her shoes on when her eldest sister was yanking on her arm. She pulled her out of the dorm room and went down the stairs. Narcissa hurried after her sister, who was quite a bit taller, with a longer gait. She practically scurried down the stairs after her. The common room was quiet and freezing cold, the fire had gone out in the grate hours ago. Bellatrix opened the common room door and bustled to the end of the dungeons with Narcissa trailing after her.

"Well," Bellatrix said sharply, as they took the steps up to the foyer, "Did you do it?"

"Do what?" Narcissa replied irritably, "Get a decent night's rest? Nearly, until you showed up."

"No. _It_. With Lucius," she said, sliding the front oak door open.

It was clear she was accustomed to sneaking out, as she knew just how to hold the door so that it made no noise. She closed it just the same, with a soft snap.

Narcissa scowled as they walked across the lawns with only the moonlight high above them. "You know very well I couldn't before we're married, Mum would skin me…"

"Six hundred girls waiting in the wings to undress for him and you're the picture of modesty," Bellatrix remarked, "I'm impressed it worked at all."

Narcissa had no rebuttal. She was often just as shocked that anything she'd done had worked on Lucius.

"Then again," her sister added, "You do give meaning to _Tojours pur_ quite nicely."

"Shut it, Bella," Narcissa said.

Her sister's laugh echoed across the lawns as the strolled directly into the Forbidden Forest. Narcissa stopped at the edge of the woods. The woods along her property were ones she knew; these woods were teeming with monsters, centaurs, and the like. She didn't want to intrude. Before she could protest, Bellatrix had hold of her arm again ("Honestly, Cissy!" she huffed) and dragged her into the forest. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up at once and she knew that something deeply wrong was in it. Something that went against the nature of the forest. The shadows seemed to whisper of something cursed, uncoiling around her. Narcissa knew what forests should feel like, magic or none. But this felt _wrong_. Her heart picked up, thumping in the caverns of her chest.

"Bellatrix," she protested, wanting more than anything to turn around, "Can you not feel it? Something is here, something of great—"

"Power," her sister finished, breathing heavily, her eyes flashed manically.

" _Dark_ ," Narcissa added.

"Just trust me," her sister said.

It was the last time she did.

They walked for nearly forty minutes. Narcissa counted her paces from the edge of the forest and her eyes flicked around the forest, judging the growth of vegetation and moss and determined they were traveling east. The trees were so tall they blocked out the rising sun, and they lit their wands so that they could traverse them. Judging by their height and width, Narcissa surmised they were traveling to the oldest part of the forest. To the beginning of the tiny grove that, over centuries, spread across the land until the thicket became a teaming force of nature, its separate ecosystem from the rest of the world. It should have been here that she found solace, but her heart was a deep bruise in her chest, and her teeth were chattering from the chill.

"Just here then," Bellatrix whispered, pulling a branch out of the way and revealing a wide clearing.

Blue flames shot up around the clearing as soon as she entered it and Bellatrix stood with her shoulders squared. Narcissa's throat closed up. Above them on an overhang of rocks sat a man in his thirties or forties, good looking but his face seemed waxen. His eyes were a shock of red and brown.

"You may stand to the left," the voice said, too high to be natural.

She was rooted to the ground, and Bellatrix had to push her over. The man stepped off the ledge and fell to the ground, landing gracefully onto the forest floor beneath his feet. He snapped his fingers and suddenly there were others around her, all masked, standing silently.

"For our…security, I've granted everyone anonymity," the man said, "To everyone else, you are masked. And you see everyone else masked. It's an easy concept. You must be wondering why you were brought here."

The man circled each of them, his eyes gleaming with a lust she didn't understand. Narcissa tried to keep her back straight and her chin up to mask her fear.

"You were brought here, because you were _chosen_ ," he hissed as he traced the circle of the clearing and looked at each of them, "Chosen to lead the world into a revolution. To bring about a _new_ dawn. An era where those less worthy are put in their place. For far too long, the Purebloods have been trapped in a system created to render them weak. This generation, I'm told, is three quarters female. Hardly enough men to marry, and what will be left for the rest? St. Mungo's, where the rest of the pureblood maids have gone to carry out their existence, alone. Useless to their families and disbarred from having children or homes. Young men are forced into the ritualistic politicking and peacocking as their fathers and their grandfathers before them, never allowed to _prove_ yourself to the world. I say _no_ more to this. We will create a new world."

Bellatrix was clutching her wrists and hanging on to every word he said as if galleons were pouring from his tongue. And indeed, he twisted his words eloquently enough. He wasn't _wrong_. The fear of St. Mungo's was real for every single girl that didn't find an arrangement. Even marrying a Goyle was better than being there.

"Young men and women, I come to you to liberate you of the world I _know_ you dread every day," the man continued, "All I ask in return is your support to the cause."

Narcissa gasped. It suddenly occurred to her that she knew his voice, though she couldn't pinpoint from where.

If the others were enthusiastic or not, she could not tell, for they all wore masks and were plain faced to her. The only other she could see was her sister, whose rapt attention was most unlike her.

"Of course," the man said, "There will be a practical test so that I know of your strengths and weaknesses. You will be chosen based on these skills. It will come later. Please, take your time. Mull it over, but do not tell one another—your identities must be kept secret. We will meet again soon, and code names will be given. Again, say nothing. Walking through the flames will bind you to secrecy. Tell anyone and the consequences will be dire. You are released."

The forest before her swirled her and the flames enveloped her. She felt no pain, but a sudden jolt and whirring told her she was somehow flying through a Floo Network. She crashed through the grate of the Slytherin common room and spilled out of it onto the floor, coughing.

"Welcome back," Bellatrix said, pulling her to feet and dusting her off.

"WHAT was that?" she whirled, her cheeks pink, "I know him!"

"You couldn't possibly know him," her sister replied, looking nervous.

Narcissa looked up at her sister and fastened her gaze with a hardened stare. "He was in your bedroom over Halloween. I saw you."

Bellatrix paled, and realization struck Narcissa for the second time, "It was you in the Parkinson manor over the summer. You. And Him. He said you were being sold like livestock. He told you he could grant you immortality."

"And so, he will," Bellatrix said, turning her chin up, "The Dark Lord is more than anything we could possibly imagine. He is the Master of Life and Death. _He cannot die_."

Narcissa was dumbstruck. She stared at her sister. "Who _wants_ to live forever?" she asked fiercely.

The thought that someone might not wish to clearly never crossed Bellatrix's mind, for she gaped openly, mouth slack like a fish. Narcissa tore away from her and went up the stairs. She went to the seventh year boy's dorm and twisted the knob, not bothering to knock. Boys were in various states of dress and loudly shouted at her to leave, but she ignored them as she stalked to the end of the bed and found Lucius, sitting on the edge of his bed reading from his Transfiguration textbook.

She ripped the book from his grasp and dropped it onto the floor with a clatter.

"Narcissa—" he said, startled. His fingers were still curled, as though he were still holding the book, and he hadn't realized.

"I forbid it," she told him, her blood boiling, "You do it and I'll make your life a living hell, do you understand me?"

"Hang on," he said quietly, "Do _what_?"

But she couldn't say it. Try as she might, she couldn't tell him anything about the forest. The flush of her cheeks drained. She couldn't because of the flames, but he'd said telling would be dire, _not_ that she wouldn't be able to tell at all. Narcissa surmised that Lucius must have been there, somehow, and mentioning it to him was just part of the masking ritual the man had implemented.

"Get your girl under control, Malfoy! We're trying to study over here!"

Narcissa turned her wand to the boy who called over to them and took several dangerous steps toward him. "Say anything more and your tongue will be permanently glued to the top of your mouth, you slimy little git!"

"Narcissa," Lucius said, tugging her by her shoulders. "Cissy…"

"Don't you _Cissy_ me!" she shouted and yanked away from him.

He guided her out of the dorm and into an alcove, and he touched both of her shoulders. "What's happened?" he asked her quietly, his hands brushing her hair from her forehead, "I've never seen you so shaken."

Every time she tried to tell him about the man, her mind seemed to swirl out of control and she lost her thought. Narcissa finally narrowed her eyes shrewdly, wondering if she could figure out if he was lying to her.

"Don't trust Bellatrix," she finally managed to stay, and the words came out this time.

She saw it, the flicker of understanding in her meaning. And he nodded curtly, though he couldn't say anything in detail on the subject matter. This was, Narcissa saw, the first thing they couldn't talk about. It was the first wedge between them.

When they went down to breakfast, neither one of them were speaking to each other. Narcissa, angry with him because, more than anything, she feared the worst. Lucius, too confused and somewhat afraid of her to speak up again. It was rare that Narcissa's temper flare, but lately it seemed to have crept upon her. The duel with her sister and now this.

The owls dropped a rather thick envelope in front of her, and Narcissa's fingers were trembling lightly as she opened it and pulled the thick parchment. She turned it over and opened the first page. It was from her mother, detailing the lists of her wedding plans. There were check marks next to the ones she was allowed to choose from.

"Rose petals," Narcissa said, curling her lip in disgust, "I have the option of pink or red, but see here, my Mum's written in her suggestion for red."

Lucius curiously examined the letter and then he bit his lip. He pulled it from her reach and turned her to face him. "Narcissa," he said, "What if…what if we didn't _have_ to do this right now? What if we had time?"

"No," she said.

"No?" he repeated helplessly.

"You're not ruining our lives pursuing…WHY CAN'T I JUST SAY IT!" Narcissa yelled, slamming her palms against the table. Heads swiveled to stare at her. She stood up and scrambled away from him. "If _that_ is your choice, so be it Lucius. I can't stop you. But I won't go through it. I won't do it. And if you have any shred of respect for me—if you…"

She looked around, her chest heaving, the wide eyes staring at her. Narcissa didn't just _lose_ it in the Great Hall at breakfast. She wasn't the unsteady one—that was Bellatrix. She didn't have a temper like the both of her sisters. It wasn't in her to have a meltdown. She was steady.

Not anymore, it seemed.

Narcissa left the Hall, slamming the door open hard with the palm of her hand, and she left Lucius sitting there, frozen in a bewildered daze. She stormed up the stairs, barely paying any attention to where she was going until she found herself at the top of the Astronomy tower. She saw her life played out before her. Lucius rescinding the proposal to pursue some stupid _revolution_ , stubbornly refusing to marry anyone at all or perhaps playing along until the day of the wedding, where he would leave her at the altar.

Sobs shook her body and she sank against the wall slowly until she was sitting. It was too much to ask for an ordinary, safe existence. She was born wrong. She felt too much for others; her sister coldly accepted her married existence and barely thought twice about it. Perhaps she thought that the man she was obsessed with would save her from her fate. Narcissa didn't need saving. Narcissa knew that if she were brave, she would leave. Let her name be blasted off the tapestry and be another example their enemies used against her family to drag their reputation through the mud. She knew that none of it mattered in the end. Everyone would die, and their legacy would eventually dim until it was nonexistent, until they were forgotten.

A thousand constellations existed between herself and freedom. An ocean of wanting drowned her. For so long, she let the whispers of the forest be her crutch. She carved out a tiny piece of life that made sense to her and convinced herself that it was enough, but it wasn't. She, like the legacy before her, wanted more, more, and more until she consumed everything like a black hole. Narcissa craved sensibility, but she was falling apart at the seams. Was it possible that she was just as mad as Bellatrix? She too had put all of her trust in a man and dedicated the past year to wooing him, like a brainless slag, for what? The _betterment_ of her name. To make her mother, who suffered the burden of daughters so acutely, feel a tiny shred of happiness for the first time since she'd married her miserable husband? Narcissa had been ambitious, twisting her heart into pieces just to get to Lucius Malfoy. And here she was, about to lose him.

She had to be the one to leave.

Narcissa went back to the dorm room. She pulled her trunks out from beneath her bed and began tossing her things into them. She would have to hurry if she wanted to get far enough away before anyone could stop to talk to her. Her hands were shaking as she swiftly tossed the books into her trunk, though she didn't know if they would have any real use. She had no money, but her name could get her far enough on credit until someone figured out she was running, and then they would blast her off the tapestry and that would be that. The money would be gone. Some of the things could be sold—the silks and the jewelry. She picked up the alexandrite necklace Lucius had transfigured for her. She tossed it into the trunk—it would definitely sell for something.

She grasped the trunk and yanked it off the bed. As she started to go toward the door, someone cleared their throat. She turned as she pocketed her wand, and saw Mara sitting on the edge of the bed across from Narcissa's, the bed she abandoned after five continuous years when they had their row.

"Going to be an underage witch out in the world, not even able to do magic?" Mara asked her coldly, "How are you going to defend yourself?"

"Not now, Mara," Narcissa huffed.

"Might as well snap your wand now," she said, "You'll be good as dead out there."

"Why do you even care?" she asked her. Her palms were sweating against the handle of the trunk.

Mara clasped her hands together. "If you leave, you'll never see Max again."

The words had a visible effect on Narcissa, who seemed to crumble at the thought of losing her beloved pet. Mara stood up and smoothed her robes. She glanced back at the bed, her eyes lingering on it as if she wanted to memorize the way it looked.

"I only came here to say goodbye," Mara said, "The Zabini's are in a rush and don't want to wait, so Candra and I are eloping tomorrow. I won't return to Hogwarts after this. I know that…after everything we've been through this year, there's no coming back from what happened. I made you promise me that we would have a grand adventure before we were married, but I guess we just didn't get the chance. I'm sorry. Sorry that our friendship came down to a few potion ingredients, but I was desperate, and you turned your back on me."

Narcissa's eyes were shiny with tears, but her jaw was set and furious. "I _never_ turned my back on you! But I also wasn't going to get us both in trouble over an insane idea you had in your head."

"That insane idea was survival," Mara replied, "You, who chose your gilded cage and handsome prince, wouldn't know a thing about it."

"Candra runs in the same group that Lucius does!" she snapped, "He isn't _dangerous_. I'm sorry that I trusted Lucius's opinion of him and refused to indulge your schemes."

"And I'm sorry you chose a man over your best friend," Mara said, "I thought you were different."

She pushed past Narcissa and shut the door. Whatever intentions Mara had when she sat on the bed was lost on Narcissa. But just the same, the anger deflected at her former best friend distracted her from her other emotional turmoil, and with a sigh, she unpacked the trunk and slid it back under the bed. She left the dorm and venture out onto the lawns as the sun slowly waned and fell asleep. She sat on the rocks facing the forest and pulled out her journal. Quite quickly, she drew the face of the man in the forest. The man, Narcissa thought, that was about to ruin everything.


	15. 15

"Bring me your suffering,

The rattle roar of broken bones.

Bring me the riot in your heart,

Angry, wild, and raw.

Bring it all.

I am not afraid of the dark."

mia hollow

SUMMER

The curling hand of summer swept her up in a glow of happiness, and not even the stress of O.W.L.S or the silent war she was waging against Lucius Malfoy could diminish it. She finished her exams in high spirits and successfully navigated alluding her fiancé for the better part of two weeks, as he had been far too busy studying for his own exams. The final feast of the year was just upon on her, and she dressed quickly in the dorm. Slytherin was set to win the House Cup that year, and as she hurried up the dungeon steps toward the Great Hall, she could see from the open doors that the room was adorned in green. As she walked to the hall, a hand grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her into one of the closets near the door. It was Lucius. He lit the swinging lantern above their heads and glared at her.

"Two weeks," he hissed, "You've ignored me for _two weeks_! Do you have any idea what that's been like?"

"You're scheming, Lucius Malfoy, to twist your way out of being with me," Narcissa snapped, "but you expect me to be at your beck and call? I won't be your wife and I won't drop my existence to appease yours if this is how you behave."

It was as if she struck him.

"Of course, I want to be with you," he said, "I just don't want to be _married_ at seventeen. Isn't that a bit…ridiculous?"

"I'm fifteen, so yes, I grasp the feeling quite well," she retorted, shoving him away from her. His back hit the stone wall and he tripped over an old mop, "but I'm also aware that I'm staring down the barrel of St. Mungo's, so if you don't pluck up the courage, you won't ever see me again."

Silence passed between them, Narcissa glaring at him and Lucius looking shocked that anyone would speak to him that way. She imagined for the past two weeks, he lived in relative peace without her there. Surely none of his friends were that hard on him; their reputations depended on his graceful opinion of them.

Finally, a smile broke across his face. "I've missed you."

"I'm shocked you even survived it," she remarked.

And just like that, they were speaking again. He pulled her out of the closet and to the Slytherin table for the feast. The two most stubborn people were righted with one another, and this seemed to bring happiness to the rest of the table. As she looked along the table, she noted with a tiny hint of sadness that two people were now missing from their ranks: Mara and Candra Zabini. According to Theodore, the newlyweds were living in a Zabini summer home by the English Channel. Narcissa did not receive any sort of letter from Mara about the wedding, nor had she been invited since it was so underhandedly done, but she did not expect to receive anything. That chapter of her life closed, whether she wanted it to or not.

The next morning, she boarded the train with Lucius and Abraham Nott, both of whom were animatedly discussing life outside of Hogwarts. If possible, Lucius wanted to petition as a school governor to influence a focus on Herbology and strengthen the interconnectedness of each subject. Abraham Nott wished to study Alchemy. And Narcissa, whose future was a lean, tall man with long blonde hair around his shoulders, said nothing of her future.

When the train finally came a stop in London at dusk, she and Lucius exited onto the platform. She expected to see her parents. Andromeda and Bellatrix Apparated without hesitation. Panic swept over her and her eyes darted around, searching frantically for her sullen parents, but they weren't there.

"Lucius, I—" she said, touching his arm, "My parents…"

"About that," Lucius said, "Hold tight."

She barely had enough time to grasp his arm tighter with both of her hands before she was pulled from the ground and whirled through the air. She felt slightly sick, like gravity was pulling her into several directions, but with a loud _pop_ , her feet thudded to the ground.

They were outside in the dark. She immediately smelled the sweet perfume of apples and summer. Spread out before her was a large, scrubbed wooden table with chairs. Candles were hanging in glass jars from the trees and swaying in the breeze. Music played softly from an old radio, and there were blankets laid out across the grass.

"What is this?" Narcissa asked him curiously. She was still clutching her trunk, and thankfully had only just changed from her school robes.

There was a loud _crack_ and the cork of a champagne bottle burst through the barrier of silence. Abraxas Malfoy appeared in front of her with glasses which he placed onto the table and began to pour. Then she noticed the brightly colored banner fastened to some of the trees—"CONGRATULATIONS LUCIUS AND BELLATRIX!" in large, shiny green letters. Her sister was standing off by herself with a drink, frowning deeply. It appeared she too had been ambushed by this impromptu celebration. Farther still, her eyes roamed until she saw her mother, who was already quite drunk, dancing with Ophelia Malfoy in front of the radio.

"Just in case you weren't tired of celebrating during the feast," Lucius said, leaning to whisper in her ear.

He laughed softly and helped her into a chair in front of the wooden table. Lucius smoothly kissed her palm and pulled the chair next to her.

Abraxas caught the gesture and loudly exclaimed, "My, my, my! What a VISION before me! Narcissa and Lucius, the two of you have grown up so much this past year. Grown up with _one another_ it looks like, right, Cygnus?"

Her father grunted in response and fished out the olive from his martini glass. He was standing off to the side of the lights, looking forlorn.

Ophelia and Druella walked over to them, giggling and falling into each other like school girls.

"Lucius!" Ophelia cried, and took his face into her hands, kissing both of his cheeks sloppily, "My baby boy!"

The enthusiasm of her statement waned as she held onto him and soon she was heaving wracking, heavy sobs into his shoulder as she realized he was now a man. Her mother, on the other hand, poured her a drink and nodded nonchalantly as she slid it across the table to her youngest daughter. She looked up at Narcissa and cut her eyes to the Malfoys' display of affection, and she could have sworn she saw her mother's tight lips form a tiny smile before it disappeared behind her glass of wine.

Ophelia settled into the chair, but she looked upon Lucius with all the love of the world, the purest kind of love that could only be possessed by a mother. Narcissa understood her own as she looked around her, that the results of her mother's love were all around her. They needn't be said out loud.

"Bellatrix's wedding is just before the kick off the Sacred, right, Druella?" Abraxas asked conversationally, placing his goblet onto the table.

Her sister seemed to float like a waif among the sweet pristine apple trees. She was kicking the rotten apples on the ground lightly across the grass. If she was listening to their conversation, she wasn't acknowledging it. Her arms were crossed and Narcissa noticed that she was holding her wand aloft in her hand. A cold thought struck her through the warm haze of the evening. She wondered if Bellatrix wanted to kill them all.

"Yes," her mother responded, "It's coming up very soon."

Ophelia nodded and took a deep sip from her glass. She waited until she gently placed it back onto the table before she started speaking. "We have yet to decide on a date for Lucius and Narcissa, although, you know I think a fall wedding would be _beautiful_."

"Summer," Narcissa stammered, the word spilling out of her before she could keep it in. "Please. I'm never happier than I am in the summer."

The adults looked between one another slowly. "Well, of course, that would delay it quite a bit," Abraxas said, "By another _year_."

Cygnus came around to the table when he heard wedding plans. Her father was not one to be outcasted for an event he was going to pay for.

But the year would give Narcissa time to finish school properly at Hogwarts and gave Lucius more time before he faced one of his biggest fears.

"A year gives us more time to plan something completely unique," Druella commented, lightly, "Imagine what the two of us could create with a year's worth of time."

"And the _galleons_ ," Abraxas added, laughing.

"Next summer," Ophelia decided, and then she clasped both her husband's hand and Cygnus's, "Oh, please."

Cygnus nodded deftly. Ophelia, being Abraxas's greatest weakness, could only curl his lip into his best smile and look at his wife with complete adoration. She squealed and latched onto him across the table, peppering his cheeks with kisses. Ophelia Malfoy was rather like a lovestruck girl who never quite grew out of the intrinsic feeling of being a newlywed. Many would find it grating; Narcissa found it rather refreshing, being around people that were honest with one another.

Lucius was dumbstruck under the warm glow of lanterns, staring at Narcissa with newfound appreciation. When he looked at her, he saw freedom.

Late, late into the evening, their parents were sleeping on the blankets beneath the stars. Narcissa's sister was curled beneath a tree asleep with her back against a tree.

Narcissa explored the depths of the woods behind the Malfoy property, with Lucius behind her, their wands lit. The forest was a stranger to her, but it seemed to welcome her home just the same. And, she surmised, it would be one day.

"I know what you did today," Lucius finally spoke, as they came upon a wooden bridge over a brook of gurgling water.

"I don't know what you mean," Narcissa replied slyly, turning and resting her elbows against the railing of the bridge.

Lucius smiled and stepped through the distance between them and kissed her. "Clever," he said, kissing down her neck.

"Summer really is my favorite season," she said, fighting the urge to gasp at each touch.

He kissed his way back to her lips and she met him passionately, her hands tugging on his shoulders. He pressed his body against hers and kissed her, his hands running through her hair, as the branches of trees creaked softly in the wind around them. The mood had shifted. He kissed her with a want she hadn't felt in him before, and she was surprised to find it in herself too. He wound his arm around her waist and then she felt them spinning.

He Apparated them onto a bed in a darkened, cool room. The lanterns suddenly burst to life and she realized they were in his bedroom. Lucius touched her without ever taking her clothes off, revealing every idiosyncrasy and gifts she might have to offer, and he loved everything in between. So, she did not yield when he pulled off her dress. Nor, did she stop her trembling hands from pulling his clothing off and tossing it across the room.

He touched her body like he'd memorized it. She was arching against the pillows and sighing as he pressed his thumb against her hard center and rubbed her luxuriously. She seemed to unfold and bloom before him in petals. He pressed his fingers inside of her and curled—left her knees trembling and her legs too weak to walk. He exhausted her pleasures with his hands before he replaced them with his mouth, his tongue finding new angles to stroke her.

"Please," she begged him, biting her lip, as she craved his skin.

She didn't have to say more. He crawled up her body and found her lips. She angled her hips against him. He was gentle at first, softly moving inside of her, letting her inner walls stretch to fit him. She didn't feel pain, as he prepared her, and soon the only sound in the room with the small, rhythmic sound of the bed as it hummed the music of their lovemaking. She devoured his skin with her hips, fingers, and lips. He softly murmured her name into her ear and ground his pelvis against her.

He twisted her over and slowly dipped his fingers along the curve of her spine, from her shoulders. Down her back, he touched each vertebra, until he met the small of her back. He pressed her body down into the bed and pressed his fingers into her sex and brought his finger to his lips to taste her. He took her from behind, and suddenly the gentle lovemaking turned to fucking, the exhilaration too much for the both of them. She clasped the sheets and screamed when she climaxed. He shuddered and gripped her hips as he released himself inside of her and cried, his body draping across her back. He kissed her back and sighed as he came back down. They lay in the naked silence of the darkened manor, and fell back against the sheets exhausted.


	16. 16

"Your heart's a vine that I've bled trying to climb,

you're making a ruin of me.

try to survive, keep my spirit alive,

but like a knife in the woods

you hunt down the good in me."

Jon Bellion

Bellatrix dragged her out of bed at four in the morning with her wand held threateningly. Her sister's sallow face and hurried, manic eyes frightened her, but she did as she was told. She watched Narcissa in the vanity mirror as she pulled her hair out of the overnight braid she made to curl her hair for the morning. Narcissa sucked in her cheeks as she brushed a powder of rouge across the cheek bones to give herself the appearance of someone that hadn't been hurried out of bed. Bellatrix watched, softly muttering to herself, as Narcissa dressed. Her eldest sister even zipped the back of her dress up, and then yanked her arm out of her bedroom door.

"What are we doing?" Narcissa demanded, trying to wrangle her arm out Bellatrix's grasp, but thin and wispy as she was, she had a firm hand.

"You're the only one I trust," she hissed, as she shoved her wand into Narcissa's side.

Narcissa snorted. "If you trusted me, your wand wouldn't be lodged in my _rib cage_ —let _go_ of my arm or I'll blast you into a thousand pieces!"

"You can't do _magic_ , still just a pretty kitten in a window," her sister responded, laughing harshly.

She shoved her out of the front door and shut it, holding it still, quiet as a mouse. They walked down the long driveway with the stars twinkling above them. When they got to the edge of the property line, Bellatrix Apparated them. Narcissa went lurching into the air, caught by such a surprise that she nearly vomited. When they hit the ground, Narcissa smelled water before she heard it, but then the rush of sound hit her ears.

They were on the inside cave just beyond a massive, roaring waterfall. The cave was dimly lit with hundreds of candles that arced on two sides, creating a path down the tunnel. In the new light, Narcissa discovered her sister was in her best black dressing gown. Her hair, while still voluminous, was articulately coifed into beautiful round curls. Her sister's manic look hadn't been the slow seeping brain rot she seemed to be occupied with, but nerves. The sweet smell of jasmine wafted through the darkness of the cave at her.

Bellatrix wound her fingers through Narcissa's and clutched her hard. She turned her face to look at her little sister. "We only get so much in this life, don't we?" she asked her.

"What do you mean?" Narcissa asked.

Bellatrix tugged her down the aisle, deeper into the cave.

"I mean to say that there's scarcely any options for us," she said, panting slightly as they walked down a steep, slick portion of rock. Narcissa was clutching her sister's hand just as hard back to keep from falling. "I figured, if I've got to get married to someone, it might as well be my way."

Narcissa nearly tripped down the steep decline. "You _what_?" she stuttered.

Bellatrix stopped and stared at her.

"They can marry me off to him," she said, tearing filling her eyes. She touched her chest. "But _I'll_ know better. I'll know."

"You mean that man, that one in the forest—" Narcissa asked, gasping for air as the path dipped up into an even steeper incline.

A dull ache began in her side and she clutched it with her free hand.

They reached an antechamber. The doorway opposite of them was covered in ivy. In the dim lightning, they almost looked like serpents dangling in the archway. Bellatrix crossed the room. She lifted the ivy and slipped through, dragging Narcissa by the hand. And beyond the arch, the room was filled with hundreds of flowers and candles. The faint morning light fell in the center of the room before an arbor covered in jasmine.

He swept in front of the arbor in plain black robes and a long cloak that trailed the floor. His eyes were bright red and the features on his face were nearly impossible to distinguish. Indeed, his nose seemed almost flat against his face, giving him the distinct appearance of a serpent.

"Bellatrix," he said, her name rolled off his tongue with a slight hiss. "You have entrusted our secret with your sister? Curious choice. I would have thought the Malfoy boy to be a better option."

They walked up the aisle. Bellatrix stood before her master, primed and beautiful. Narcissa stepped over the candle pathway and held her arms to the side, pinned there, in case something gave away the distinct thrill of fear that went through her.

"It had to be her," her sister said, "Narcissa might not agree with my choice, but she will honor it. And she won't interfere."

Narcissa was too well-trained as a pureblood girl to give away her expression of surprise. Nor did her expression waiver as the man looked into her eyes. He seemed intent on searching her mind for all of her secrets, and indeed he seemed to be trying, and while others had given into him, Narcissa was sturdy, steady. The soul that could survive on its own didn't seek the approval of lesser beings, and so he came back empty handed.

"Your sister is a gifted Occlumens," he said swiftly, a flicker of distrust in his eyes.

Narcissa tilted her head curiously. "I'm a what?"

"You won't find a member of my family that's not," Bellatrix said placidly, "Please, my lord. I've waited for this moment all year."

He nodded his head and pulled out his wand. Bellatrix knelt on the ground before him and placed her head against the hard stone. He hissed his approval. He leaned down and wound a curl around the end of his wand. His wand tip glowed red until the lock of hair was burnt completely off, and she watched him pocket it into his robes.

"Bellatrix Black," his hoarse voice echoed across the chamber walls, "You stand before me and give yourself to me as the first member of my family. You represent the beginning of a new world that you—and—I—will create ourselves. You pledge your life to me. Tell me."

"I pledge my life to you," her sister simpered from beneath her hair.

"Together, the world will be reborn. Better, stronger, _pure_ ," he spoke softly.

"Pure," Bellatrix cried, her voice hoarse with tears.

"Stand up," he ordered.

She rose to her feet, tears dripping down her cheeks. He took her hand and looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then he raised his wand, and Narcissa's eyes widened, convinced that she was about to witness her sister's death, but with a flash of green light, he pressed his wand into her forearm. She screamed in pain and writhed, her legs buckling beneath her. She fell to the floor and wailed. Narcissa watched a black skull take form over her arm, and a serpent unfolding from the mouth of the skull. When it was fully inked, Bellatrix was left sobbing on the ground. A vicious, evil expression possessed the man as he admired his work.

He slipped his wand up his sleeve. Bellatrix slowly rose to her feet and examined her arm, her face swelling with pride.

"I did it," she breathed, and looked up at him, "At last. I'm yours."

"And now," he whispered, "To deal with your sister."

Narcissa bristled, but she didn't back down.

"Of course," Bellatrix said, turning toward her.

"Come, Narcissa," he beckoned.

She wasn't stupid. There was nowhere else to go, nor could she Apparate. Narcissa lifted her skirts and slipped over the candles, careful not to set the hems on fire. She walked quietly down the aisle. The only sound in the chamber was a small drip of water and her footsteps.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked her, eyes glittering.

"My sister calls you the Dark Lord," Narcissa replied, stopping in front of the arbor, nearly four feet from them.

"Indeed, she does," he replied swiftly, "But my name, dear girl, is Lord Voldemort. Now you shall know it. Now you shall respect it."

"Very well," she replied.

Lord Voldemort pulled his wand out of his sleeve again. "Your sister asked for a proper witness, and so you shall be one. Let's make the vow. Do you know what an Unbreakable Vow is?"

Narcissa shook her head.

"If you break the vow," he said, "You will die."

She swallowed hard. Bellatrix reached out and clutch her sister's hand and Lord Voldemort brought his wand down to their intertwined arms.

"Narcissa, will you swear to protect the secret of this ceremony from anyone and everyone?" Bellatrix asked.

"Okay," Narcissa replied, struggling as a burning sensation spread across her fingertips.

"No, girl," Lord Voldemort snapped, "You must mean it. Say _I will_."

"I will," she corrected herself.

"Start over," he demanded.

Bellatrix inhaled and exhaled before she began once more. "Narcissa, will you swear to protect the secret of this ceremony from anyone and everyone? _Including_ Lucius Malfoy."

"I will," she said, and watched with fascination as a ring of light roped around their hands.

"And will you bear witness to the events you have seen today and uphold them in your heart as the one true marriage of your eldest sister, Bellatrix Black?" she asked.

"I will."

Another ring wrapped around their hands. Bellatrix looked to her master for direction and he nodded curtly. Lord Voldemort tapped their hands and the light disappeared. Narcissa felt heavy. For whatever it was worth, she was tied to her sister now, her secret holder. She watched her sister marry a man, but she wasn't sure the man married her sister. Weeks went by after the ceremony, and while Bellatrix kept checking on her, perhaps to find her sister dead from revealing her secret, Narcissa kept quiet. She was, after all, the best choice for a vow of silence. Her little sister never spoke of the moment at all, not even on Bellatrix's fraudulent wedding day with Rodolphus Lestrange.

The summer wedding took place on the grounds of the Black Manor, as the Lestranges hardly had the property large enough to hold the entire community. Massive tables were arranged around the sparkling gardens Narcissa had spent the better half of the month preparing. White roses adorned the tables and petals were blowing in the air, swept up from the ground and raining onto the wedding party in the beautiful summer wind.

Lucius handed her a flute of champagne. The rest of the guests were inside the ballroom and had just begun to meander outside to their chairs. The pair were standing by the doors looking down the aisle.

"Did I thank you for buying us an extra year before this is us?" he asked her quietly.

Narcissa took a sip from the bubbly liquid and smiled behind the glass. "I believe you did. Once. And then again…and again."

"You're leaving your bedroom window open again tonight, right?" he asked, dropping his voice to a whisper.

"Only if you find yourself traveling," she said, smiling politely as a cluster of elder wizards walked by them.

Lucius took her by the arm and moved her away from the door. "I'll be there by midnight. As I have every night."

"Looking forward to it," she replied.

The tension between them was palpable. The lust consuming them both was new and exciting, and she could hardly keep herself from ripping at his clothing even now as she stood on the veranda in full view of everyone. Her heart was racing in the blissful summer heat. This summer proved more meticulous than ever, with her mother forcing her through wedding preparation for Bellatrix's wedding and meetings with Ophelia Malfoy for her own ceremony, where she went to help decide on colors, patterns, and flowers. She was even forced through a bridal fitting, though she thought she heard Mrs. Malfoy whisper to her mother that it might be too soon, given the fact that Narcissa had yet to go through the _change_. The Rosier family were late bloomers, was all her mother said.

Eventually, the guests made their way outside and Narcissa left Lucius's side to join her mother and sister on the front row. A violin player struck the first chord of the wedding march, and Rodolphus Lestrange walked down the aisle first, his strides too quick for the rhythm of the music. He looked distinctly nervous, his palms curled against the sleeves of his suit. Narcissa turned her chin behind her and caught Lucius's gaze. He winked at her and she dropped her gaze, smiling to herself. In a year's time, this would be them. Narcissa could live with a year; Lucius, of course, wanted far longer, but they managed to carve out a small amount of freedom. She couldn't help but let a flutter of trepidation go through her as she thought of being married to him, living in Paris to escape the frenzy of the public eye and learn how to be husband and wife.

She was lost in her own thoughts and happened to look over her shoulder again when she saw him. The man from the cave—Lord Voldemort, in the middle of the group. No one paid attention to him, but she stared at him for a long moment, wondering what he was doing. Surely, he didn't mean to sabotage the entire wedding. Her mother would be heartbroken. Perhaps what she saw before in the cave was only an act for him. Perhaps he meant to make a show, a grand sweeping entrance here, and steal his bride. When Bellatrix arrived on the veranda, in her white dress and flowers, the muscles in his face never so much as twitched. If he felt anything for her at all, he didn't show it. In fact, if she hadn't recognized him from before, she wouldn't have noticed him at all. It seemed that this was the point. She wondered just how long he had stood in their midst, watching them all.

It was painfully hard to focus on Bellatrix and Rodolphus exchanging vows, when only days ago, Narcissa watched her sister fling herself to the ground and commit her mortality to another man. She wondered, too, how Bellatrix hid the branding on her arm from her mother as she helped Bellatrix dress that morning.

She was distracted during the wedding party, after the vows commenced and the new couple was officially married. She politely curtseyed as the family members approached each member of Bellatrix's family to express gratitude and congratulations. The Lestrange family stood with them, looking harried and overwhelmed.

"I remember when you were just _this_ tall!" A loud, familiar voice exclaimed.

Narcissa looked over and saw Abraxas animatedly chatting with her sister. He had one hand on her arm, and the other indicating how tall she used to be. He kissed both of her cheeks and then moved on to socialize with someone else—anyone else, from the looks of it, as he took hold of the very next person he met and struck up a cheerful conversation. Her eyes strayed across the lawn to the drink table, and her eyes caught the halo of hair glinting in the sunlight. Lucius was leaning against one of the veranda columns with a drink in his hand, looking both relaxed and arrogant with a small smirk crossing his features. She blanched when she saw whom it was he was talking to. Bellatrix's lover was engrossed in conversation with him, and it was clear he was flattering Lucius. She sighed heavily and put her drink down. The Malfoy pitfall—flattery.

She crossed the lawn to the table. As she passed, a tray of champagne floated by her. She pulled a glass off the tray, downed it, and replaced it. She inhaled and charged for him. That _man_ wouldn't spend her sister's wedding trying to recruit for his political agenda.

"Narcissa! Are you excited about your own nuptials now that your sister is wed?"

Abraxas intercepted her swiftly and planted himself in front of her so that she couldn't twist away from him or pretend she hadn't heard him. She pursed her lips into a firm line, an expression distinctly reminiscent of her mother.

"I am," she said, forcing her features to pleasantry, "It's every girl's ambition to have a dream wedding, isn't it?"

Abraxas nodded his head and motioned for her to sit. She cast a long glare over at Lucius and then sat down at the table with him.

"Indeed, it is, but _you_ don't really strike me as the type to be impressed by…well, displays," he said, "Am I right, dear?"

She nodded her head and folded her hands into her lap primly.

"Of course not," he remarked kindly, "However, my Ophelia will want the grandest wedding for her son and new daughter possible. I wanted to—er—warn you ahead of time. I went through the financial ledger just last evening and discovered a shipment of a dozen albino peacocks."

Narcissa stared shrewdly back at him and he winced.

"It's not the Black way," he rattled off, as if he spent decades quoting her mother, "I know. But it is the _Ophelia_ way."

"Mr. Malfoy," she cut in, "with all due respect, your wife can plan the wedding of her dreams. I'm content to marry your son. The rest doesn't really matter."

She thought she was rude to say such a thing, but his eyes watered, and he dabbed at them with a handkerchief from his pocket. "Like your mother," he added.

Narcissa was struck by the tender way he mentioned her. She was taken aback, considering her mother said they were just friends.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said slowly, "Were you and my mother…?"

" _Heavens_ no!" he cried, fumbling with his hands in exasperation, "No, no, girl, positively not!"

"But you wanted to marry her," she argued, reaching for his arm to keep him from wrenching away and leaving. He wanted a conversation, he was about to have one.

Abraxas hesitated. Clearly, he had not anticipated her knowing that small detail. Moreover, she saw his mind trying to work out how to respond, as he didn't know the extent of what her mother told her, if it was even her mother.

"I'm about to be your daughter in law, Mr. Malfoy," she said, "Surely that means something to you. A true Black would never betray—"

"The secrets of another Black, in name or none," he finished, huffing, "Narcissa, I've known your mother since school. We were best friends. It was only natural, after a while, to develop feelings. _Feelings_ , feelings, I say, that are probably twenty years old or more. We are old friends, a deeper love than love is friendship, and anything that could have been has changed, given to something that's more."

Narcissa nodded her head. She had the distinct feeling that for the last two decades, Abraxas loved two women, though which one he would choose if he could do it over again was questionable.

"You love her, though," she said.

He nodded curtly. "Of course."

"In every conceivable life you've ever lived, or just this one?" she asked coldly, and stood up, leaving him at the table in shock.

She walked inside for a small relief from the crowds. She walked up the staircase slowly. Maxie whined from her crate in her bedroom. She hurried up the stairs to comfort her. As she came up the landing, she noticed that the door at the very end of the hall was ajar. Furrowing her brow, she curiously walked down the corridor.

Andromeda's door was hardly ever left open, and it struck her as odd. Assuming a guest was rummaging through their things to steal, she pushed open the door to catch the thief in the act.

But the room was stripped bare of everything but the heaviest furniture and a sealed envelope that was perched on top of the tufted blue satin comforter.


	17. 17

"Anyone who knew me then would say I loved you far too much.

Like a wildfire or the sharp edge of a knife.

…They would have said love wasn't supposed to drive you crazy.

And they were right.

Because there was love and then there was you."

Lang Leav

Eight-thirty in the morning was typically when she heard the first footsteps in the corridor. Despite being a private family, they all chose to room in the same wing of the house. There were other rooms any one of them could have moved to, but something kept them close together. So, at eight-thirty, when she didn't hear the door at the end of the hall open and small, exhausted feet shuffling to the bathroom to turn the faucet on for water, she was surprised. Narcissa was sitting at her desk, bent over her journal as her she scratched her quill across the parchment. Max laid under the desk, curled around her bare feet. She listened intensely, waiting for something to interrupt the impenetrable silence around her. When it didn't, she dropped her head back to her journal and continued sketching.

It had been two months since Andromeda's departure, and Narcissa was still adjusting. Though none of them said anything, the loss of two family members left the manor in a truly ghostly state. The walls weren't trembling with Andromeda's outrage, nor was it whispering the many secrets Bellatrix kept—more importantly, there was no one lying in the cool corridor on the first floor all day, who only woke up to shout at a passerby to be quiet. Bellatrix was swept away in nuptial bliss with her new husband, staying in Bulgaria for the foreseeable future, at least a year, to come together as a couple. The Black manor was finally at peace, for the only daughter left was the obedient one.

She heard someone knock at the front door and with a sigh, she pushed the chair back and stood up.

"That will be Lucius, Maxine," she told the dog, who yawned from the shadows of the desk, but remained in the one of the coolest parts of the room.

Her mother banned her Muggle clothing and was on a tirade of purity, forcing her into the flimsy and sheer robe pieces that floated out from her body in ribbons of trains along the floor. Today, she was wearing a blue dressing gown with sheer sleeves and collar, with a gossamer cloak that flowed behind her, trailing a few feet behind her on the floor. It was light for summer, she would give it that, but Maxie often trotted right over the flowing material. Narcissa either tumbled to the floor when it happened or ripped the dress into pieces.

She placed her hand on the banister and trailed her fingers down the freshly waxed wood. Lucius was standing in the foyer in front of the door with her mother, who was politely complimenting the sheen to his hair.

"It looks quite lighter dear," she said, "Have you done something different?"

"More sun, I think," he replied, smiling brilliantly.

His smile turned up the corners of his eyes and that was when she knew he was faking it. Narcissa made sure to step on the stair that always squeaked so that he would notice her. Indeed, both heads swiveled to look at her at the sound. Lucius was never quite prepared for the visage of his future bride in front of him in the newest gowns, just come out for the summer, with long hair tucked up into an elaborate up do. He was used to her wearing tights or shorts with sleeveless shirts, her hair wild around her head or in a bun.

Lucius stifled his laughter as Druella clasped her hands to her chest.

"A vision!" she exclaimed.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "I'm going to die of heat stroke any moment now."

"Best you do it beautiful," her mother snapped.

Lucius nodded matter of factly. "What good are you otherwise?"

Narcissa kissed her mother on either cheek. "We're out to start riots, Mum, don't wait up."

"You better not be an embarrassment to your family!" Druella said, inhaling, sizing up for a proper lecture.

"I'll make sure to burn down your favorite shops!" she remarked and opened the door swiftly.

Lucius skirted out after her before her mother could latch onto him and lecture him on proper etiquette. The Malfoy carriage loomed before them in front of the door. He held the carriage door open for her and then gently held his palm out for her to brace herself against as she stepped up. She scoffed and put herself in the carriage, quite capable, and Lucius helped her with her ridiculous train. He slipped in and shut the door.

"You brought them?" she asked impatiently.

He sat down and then slid a bag from the bench and tossed it to her. She unzipped it and pulled out a pair of her tights and cream colored sleeveless shirt. She untied the dress and peeled it off her body quickly. She placed it onto a hanger he'd left in the bag. She held the dress up in front of the window and placed the hanger on the tiny hook, so that it could gloat without wrinkling. She pulled the skin tight tights over her legs and then the shirt, which was somewhat overlarge, and she tied a knot at her hip bone to make it fit.

"That's so much better," she said, as she pulled her hair down and sighed.

Lucius watched her undress as though she were a very beautiful and curious piece of art, one he almost couldn't help but touch. He tossed her a pumpkin pasty from the box of desserts Ophelia sent with him, and she sat down and nibbled it thoughtfully. She crossed her legs and looked through her dress out of the window as the country side slowly went by.

"How has your summer mystery gone?" he asked her, "Any new leads?"

Narcissa smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. She told him at length the conversation she had with both her mother and his father, and after their shared exposure to Abraxas apologizing to Druella about not marrying her, the both of them were keen to uncover the truth.

"Nothing so far, she doesn't let me near her room to rummage through it," she replied.

He swore. "Does she ever go to her socials?"

"Not in the summer, she's terrified of sweating," she said, "consider it a great curse that our wedding is extended another year and I am leaving for Hogwarts. I'll barely have time to turn the whole house over searching for clues. Anything from your side?"

Lucius laughed, "My father's study is guarded better than Azkaban."

"No doubt something is there, though. It's the only place your Mum never goes?" she asked.

He nodded.

Narcissa didn't know what that was like; her father's study was another sitting room in between bouts of him shouting at people through the Floo Network. Hardly anything was private in there; she doubted her father would know what to do with himself if he had his own space. She wondered if Abraxas knew about the secret passage behind the portraits with the peepholes, where she and Lucius watched the arrangement of their marriage conspire.

The carriage burst into speed and Apparated them across the countryside. Narcissa grappled to the back of the bench to keep from sliding across the small enclosure as it sailed through the air. When it dropped to the ground suddenly, a tree jumped out of the way to avoid the carriage and whipped back into shape as they passed.

They stopped in Ottery St. Catchpole. Lucius slipped out of the carriage and held the door open as Narcissa clambered out, hopping on one foot as she slid flimsy sandals over her feet. She sprang over the steps into the grass and took Lucius by the hand and slid her fingers through his. Her excitement was both palpable and completely contagious.

A vibrant farmer's market was twenty odd feet in front of them, with tents held high over one another to block the sun. She heard light melodic music from street musicians. They passed into the tented rows of vendors with many different splendors, from food to potions supplies and screeching owls and pets in cages. The shops that didn't have the coin for brick and mortar or preferred small markets often came here.

"I've been reading up on Paris," Lucius said, as Narcissa dipped under a tent to browse the rare quills a vendor was selling. "They have all sorts of markets like this one. Massive, of course."

"I'm sure they're not as good," Narcissa answered, as she plucked a quill from the table and tickled his face with it. She returned it to the table and laughed at the shock that crossed his features. "This one is so intimate."

"Homely," he replied, grimacing.

She yanked him to the next station. The stall was a potion and herb vendor, and even Lucius was distracted enough by the quality of the potions. He stopped to uncork several bottles and smell them for authenticity. When he was impressed, he nodded idly and placed it back onto the table.

"We'll see the whole country, not just Paris, of course?" she asked him.

He purchased a sleeping draught from the vendor, who bowed graciously to him as he accepted the coins.

"Definitely," he replied, "My parents stayed in the mansion in Paris, but they traveled for years. It was only a place to go back to; they were hardly anchored."

Narcissa thought she might like to do the same. One day the Malfoy manor would be decorated in relics of their history and adventures. She passed a galleon to a witch as she walked by a table full of crystals. They were purely aesthetic unless brewed with, but she intended to decorate her end table at school with them. The witch happily scooped the crystals into a bag for her.

"What have you found?" she asked, as she turned around.

Lucius was across from her looking very intently at an ancient rune bar. A slat of wood was levitating in the air and large stones with figures cut into them were glowing in different colors on top of them. Narcissa reached for a dark blue one, whose shape almost looked like her initials. Lucius tried to snatch her hand back, but she already had her fingers on it and took it into her hand.

The blue one stirred the air around her and turned everything turquoise. She smelled cotton candy. The air was sweet and perfumed. The noise of the market was gone, and she heard peaceful piano lilting around her.

"Harmless, Master Malfoy, I promise," the wizard said.

She placed the rune back onto the bar and caught the end of his sentence. A vein in the middle of Lucius's forehead was pulsing from nerves.

"Neat," she breathed, "Why does it do that?"

"They're focusing runes," the wizard explained, "Clever tricks of magic, they turn the room into what the holder's senses find most pleasurable. The blue one, for instance, is peace. The green one is focus. Great for exams!"

Narcissa scooped up the green one. She smelled the forest and heard the rustle of wind through the trees. The sweat perfume of the earth met her lungs and she felt immeasurably at home. She could see the element of focus, she felt sharpened here, natural. She felt the forest she grew up in without stepping into it.

" _Oh_ ," she said quickly, dropping it onto the table.

Lucius picked up the red one and his eyebrows were furrowed. She looked up at the wizard.

"What does that one do?" she asked.

"Well—er—it's supposed to be an energy boost, you know, for happiness and such, but he looks rather irritated, doesn't he?" he asked.

Narcissa wrinkled her nose. "He's probably quite upset that a bit of magic is actually having an effect on him. I'm sure he really wanted it to fail. What's the yellow one?"

"Creativity," the wizard answered.

"Oh, my, if you please," she said, reaching out her hand.

The world was bathed in a vibrant warm glow and her fingers immediately itched to draw. She almost tore out of there just to go find the nearest bit of parchment so that she could start. Quickly, she dropped the stone and slid it across the hovering bar.

"Quite intense," she commented.

"Oh yeah, I use it to make these, actually," he said, "Creativity's stronger than the others, I mix it with focus, and what d'you reckon? Everything turns out all right."

Lucius dropped the red rune and glowered.

"Must you always touch them to activate?" she asked.

"Tap it once to feel it for just you. Tap the rune symbol twice to let everyone feel the effects within a few feet radius," he said, "Aren't powerful for much more than that. Dangerous otherwise, innit?"

"Don't touch the red one, it's quite awful," Lucius muttered, "Certain it is _faulty_ no less…"

"Blue and green it is, then," Narcissa announced, biting back the laughter in her throat.

He secured the runes in special leather boxes and she placed them in the bag with the crystals. The small market was teeming with magic folk, soon making it difficult to navigate through the crowds. They separated toward the middle to look at opposing stalls and met at the end at the stall full of seeds. Lucius's eyebrows shot up when he came across rare seedlings, some nearly fifty galleons a piece. Narcissa exchanged coins for flowers and herbs.

"Diagon Alley then," Lucius announced, as they stepped out of the last row of tents and circled around the outside to the carriage, "Let's stop at a bookshop first, so I have something to do while you're sized for robes…"

The carriage ride was very quick. No sooner had she taken her seat was she flung from it from the turbulence of the speed. They were soon shooting down an alley way and into the main streets of Diagon Alley. Lucius shrunk the carriage to miniature size and placed it in his pocket for safe keeping. To say that it was packed would have been an understatement; it seemed as though everyone was here. Small children were playing with gifts from Gambol and Japes.

They stepped into Flourish and Blott's and purchased her sixth year school books. Narcissa skipped head of the line to the counter and ordered a home delivery of each edition, while Lucius roamed the shelves until he found a book on ancient runes. Narcissa found an interesting book on the science of the Animagus form, which included a clever quiz to discover what sort of Animagi one could become with a bit of practice.

Narcissa opened the door to Twilfitt and Tatting's and looked around at the neat little parlor room. Rows of fabrics were draped along racks and there were mannequins displaying colorful robes with neat embroidery.

"Hogwarts robes?" A stern looking woman said, sweeping up to them, "Both on you on up, then."

Lucius held up his hand apologetically, "Not me, sorry."

He sat down in a pink tufted chair and opened the small red book, burying himself into the contents.

Narcissa walked up onto the wooden platform and held her arms out as black fabric sailed across the room and draped over her. The seamstress worked on pinning the fabric against her skin as a measure floated around her and took her measurements. A quill scribbled it down on a notebook.

"Shocked you didn't come in this year with your mother," Mrs. Twilfitt murmured, "I nearly see her every two months or so. Never missed a Hogwarts fitting yet."

"You remember her?" Narcissa asked, taken by surprise.

She nodded, "I fitted her robes when _she_ was a girl."

Narcissa glanced up in the long mirror at Lucius, who'd heard it too, and she bit her lip to contain her excitement.

"Do you remember much about her, my mother?" she asked.

A tape measure whirled over her face and cinched around her waist. The seamstress pulled the pins through and stepped back to admire her draping work. She pulled her glassed up the bridge of her nose and stared back at Narcissa speculatively.

"She was always very polite," she remarked, "Social girl. Always came in with a group." The seamstress looked at Lucius and nodded at him, "Your father was one of them."

Narcissa brimmed with curiosity. She could barely contain the excitement. "Who else?"

The seamstress pursed her lips in thought and shook her head, "It's been too long; none of the others stood out."

She wilted some and frowned. She hoped there would be more clues to her mother's past. No doubt her mother would refuse to give more information than what she already had; it appeared her mother only opened up during moments of serious emotion, either elation or sadness, but Narcissa couldn't control that.

When her fitting was over, Narcissa collected the bag for her new robes and left with Lucius to gather the rest of her supplies, knowing she was teetering on the edge of her own life—one side was her childhood, familiar terrain, and the other side, the unknown. Her life as Narcissa Malfoy loomed ever closer to her, but still felt so far out of sight somehow.


	18. 18

"I'm home to endless mountains,

with tips that touch the sky.

Flocks of grand migrating birds, and

deserts harsh and dry.

I house the wildest rivers,

and a host of sweeping plains.

I feel in waves of sunshine, or in unrelenting rains,

Don't tell me that you know me,

I am the universe in motion,

For I was born from stars."

e.h.

FALL

The magicked ceiling bore rain down upon them as the feast began amongst the animated shuffle of students. Narcissa swept through the hall, turning her wand on herself and drying her robes and hair as she passed through the threshold. She stopped and looked up the Slytherin table with the glittering golden plates and goblets, the low hanging candles hovering above each of the five tables in the room. Despite herself, a smile spread across her face. Hogwarts was home, a place she went to in her mind when the home she really belonged to was far too cold and distant.

Andromeda was sitting at the end of the table, reading alone, and Narcissa's legs were moving before she could control them. She took her seat across from her and folded her arms onto the table top. Her sister seemed to either not notice her presence or was choosing to ignore her.

"Sister," she said coolly.

Andy started and looked up. She stared at her as though she were an apparition. "You're _here_. How are you here? You're getting married in October…"

Narcissa bit her lip to hide her laughter. "Next summer," she said.

Her sister stared at her in awe. She saw tears well up in Andy's eyes and she immediately brought them up to her eyes and wiped them. "I-I…you know I couldn't stay there, you know I couldn't bare it if they arranged me to some…some—"

"Git," Narcissa finished for her, and grasped her hand, "I've missed you like crazy. Bella is gone."

"Perhaps forever," her sister murmured darkly.

"What do you mean?" Narcissa asked curiously.

Andromeda looked down the table. What little Slytherins were left were farther down the table. None appeared to be paying them any mind and were instead reuniting and detailing one another in everything that happened over the summer.

"Bella wasn't _normal_ last year," Andromeda said, "She's gone mad."

Narcissa's tongue was thick, full of the secret she had of Bellatrix and her master, Lord Voldemort. She would die if she told her sister the truth about what she witnessed just before her eldest sister's wedding.

"She's following a man named Lord Voldemort," she finally said, shrugging, "I don't know what that's all about. Perhaps it was a phase. She _is_ living in Bulgaria with Rodolphus, after all."

"Wait, _you_ know who he is?" Andy repeated, "Then you know he's building a dangerous following, recruiting even from…Slytherin."

"Bellatrix dragged me from my bed one morning last year so that I could listen to his speech," Narcissa said, "In the Forbidden Forest."

Her sister had gone completely pale and bug-eyed. She opened her mouth several times to speak but couldn't seem to find the words. As she seemed to find them, the antechamber opened, and Professor McGonagall flowed through the door with a straggle of drenched First Years. She placed the stool on the platform in front of the tables and perched the wide brimmed hat on top of it. Silence filled the room until, all at once, the hat burst into song:

"'Twas many, and many a year ago,

When I was more than stitches and fluff,

Four Founders said what we all now know,

"We'll unite to teach the brightest a great deal of stuff!"

Noble Gryffindor, oh yes, he did preach,

That only the brave and chivalrous

Were his group to teach.

And which his rival Slytherin said,

"Never mind that, the cunning will prevail."

But Ravenclaw decided instead,

"I want the cleverest of the bunch."

Patient Hufflepuff was tried and true,

"I'll take the hardest working and those that are kind."

The Founders built a school that stood against time, and it grew,

Until they needed little old me,

To look inside your wonderous minds,

And sort you in the House you're meant to be."

The hall broke into hurried applause. Andromeda leaned forward to look at the first years, perhaps trying to determine if she recognized any. When she turned back to Narcissa, she shrugged her shoulders.

"Sorting Hat's getting a little rusty," she commented critically, "I don't think all of that even rhymed."

Narcissa laughed ridiculously. They watched the houses sorted for little over an hour. Only two new Slytherins came to their table, and they weren't members of the upper echelon. Her stomach was beginning to rumble as Dumbledore stood up and lifted his arms to them.

"Tuck in!" he announced.

The feast erupted across the hall as food appeared upon the plates. Narcissa served herself some of the potatoes. Andromeda curiously searched the plates until she found what she wanted. As she picked up her fork and knife, she said:

"As you were saying earlier. You _met_ him?"

Narcissa dipped lamb onto her plate. "Yes, before the end of term last year, as I said. He's taken a particular interest in Lucius, I think. Not that it will do him much good; we'll be in France for at least a year for the marital bonding tradition."

She watched Andy choke on her pumpkin juice and then shudder at the mention of marital bonding. "You're so cavalier about your own enslavement. _You_. The one I thought most like me. The one I thought would perhaps run away first!"

"I don't want to argue with you about my choice," Narcissa warned, "I didn't judge you for yours."

Guilt spread across Andromeda's face and she flinched. At last, she had something over her sister. A legitimate argument she couldn't somehow twist to fit her needs. Narcissa might have stayed locked away her gilded cage, but she could have chosen to never speak to Andy again, to write her off as a blood traitor, as the rest were sure to do with time. Her image had not yet been burnt off; Narcissa thought her mother was waiting to see if she would come back. Not even Druella could give up on her children, for all her mother preached about upholding honor to the family name.

"Did you read my letter?" she asked quietly.

Narcissa took a long drink of water, and as she replaced the goblet onto the table, she nodded, "I kept it."

"You what?" her sister asked, surprised.

"I didn't know if you were coming back to school," Narcissa answered, "Mum nearly tore it to shreds when she read it, but I got it away from her. I thought it was the only thing I had left of you."

Her sister's eyes filled with tears again. "I didn't think you cared."

"I know we argue a lot—okay, incessantly—but you're my sister," Narcissa said kindly, "And nothing you do changes that. I know our principles will never align, I know I am following a path that was decided for me, one that in a lot of ways I also despise. But I did it of my own accord."

For the first time since the whole engagement started, Andromeda nodded her head in defeat. She lifted her goblet to Narcissa's and clinked the metal against the other goblet.

"To living," Andromeda toasted.

"E _xcuse_ you!" The Bloody Baron huffed and turned around just as quickly as he approached with a reproachful look upon his face.

Both of them were overcome by peals of laughter.

Headmaster Dumbledore stood up once more and clapped his hands. The food before them vanished.

"Now that we are full and quite ready for bed," he said, "I have a few announcements. The Forbidden Forest is still indeed forbidden to all students. For all students fifth year and above, Professor Flitwick has been kind enough to begin a Dueling Club. You will find information posted about it in the morning during breakfast. A new list of forbidden objects from Zonko's Joke Shop has been added to Mr. Filch's office door, should you be inclined to read it. That is all for tonight, Prefects please lead your house to their common rooms. Welcome back!"

The students applauded him once more, but the noise was soon lost in the scuffle of feet as everyone stood up. Andromeda rallied the Slytherins and placed the two first years in the front of the line. Narcissa walked at her side out of the Great Hall doors.

"Down these stairs, first years," Andy said kindly, as they walked in line with the Hufflepuffs down to the dungeons.

She brought them to the entrance to the Slytherin common room. " _Basilisk!"_ she said, and the wall opened, leading them into the threshold.

"'Night, Dromeda," Narcissa said, yawning.

She walked to her familiar dorm, now emblazoned with _Sixth Year_ on the gold plating. She touched the embossing for a moment and then opened the door. She was taken aback; the only trunks in the room were hers.

All of the other girls in her year were married now.

She slowly made her way to the bed nearest the portal window, with the green lake softly lapping against it, and opened her trunk. She opened the bag with the crystals she purchased in Ottery St. Catchpole onto the bedside table. She fumbled with the runes for a moment before she tapped the green one and switched it on.

Narcissa changed into her pajamas as the familiar feeling of her forest washed over her. She breathed in the smell of pine, heavy in her nostrils, and pulled black the thick blankets. She clambered into bed and turned, watching the rune glow emerald green in the darkness.

The first day of school was oddly quiet for the Slytherins. As Narcissa woke, she showered by herself in the dormitory and padded through the dorm in her towel alone. The crisp morning made the dungeons chilly, but she was in such high spirits that she didn't mind it. She dressed in her uniform and robes quickly and curled her hair. Blonde curls fell down her back in perfect waves, and with the help of magic, would remain perfect all day. She flipped her hair over and leaned over, pulling a green ribbon across the back of her hair. She stood upright again with a flourish, sending her hair arcing behind her back, and she stood in front of the mirror and tied the ribbon off into a small bow on the top of her head.

She collected her school bag and opened the door. She practically skipped to the stairs and walked down them into the common room. Her sister was at the opposite end, just about to leave, when Narcissa called her:

"Wait up!" she said and hurried over.

"You're in unusually high spirits for someone who hasn't had coffee," Andromeda complained, frowning. Her eyes were still puffy from sleep.

"The dorm is empty, so I didn't have to hear any snoring," she replied, "Oh! And I got this focusing rune from a vendor over the summer. Well, two. I'll show them to you some time. They're quite neat."

Andromeda nodded, but she wasn't much in the mood for talking so early. They clambered up the stairs, Narcissa nearly skipping.

"What's gotten into you?" Andy questioned, "You're _never_ this happy. For years, I thought the only time you were happy is if you were in a forest or covered in dirt."

Narcissa pushed open the doors to the Great Hall and breathed in the heavy scent of food. Her stomach growled. She and Andromeda walked down opposite sides of the table and sat on opposing ends closest to the staff table. Narcissa immediately picked up a peeled boil egg and a piece of bacon with toast as Andromeda poured a healthy cup of black coffee and took a sip immediately. She took several gulps and then poured it again. Narcissa watched her incredulously, her hand poised in front of her waiting for Andromeda to relinquish the glass so that she could pour her own coffee. When she finally stopped drinking and refilling it, Narcissa accepted the container from her with her eyebrows raised.

"Why not just smash it into your brain? It might work faster," she retorted, cutting her egg into fourths and slowly placing it into her mouth.

Andromeda shoved a piece of toast into mouth and poured coffee over it into her mouth. Narcissa was nonplused and staring with utter disgust.

"Two months out of the house and your table etiquette has gone straight to shit," she murmured.

"This year is N.E.W.T.S," Andy remarked after she swallowed her food, "I stayed up all night studying."

"The exams aren't until the end of the year," Narcissa said, blinking. She leaned forward, "Andy, classes haven't even _begun_ yet, don't you know that?"

She shook her head vehemently. "I spent all summer reading. The exams are _mine_. I don't have a husband or a family to stunt my growth, I _have_ to be the best."

Despite the fact that Andromeda invariably insulted her lifestyle, she couldn't help but smile. This was something they had in common. She slapped her sister lightly on the hand, and though Andromeda jumped a foot into the air from the sensation, Narcissa ignored it.

"I have a husband and a family hell bent on destroying my freedom, and this is my last year of freedom and happiness before I'm pregnant and miserable, so I'll start memorizing all of my textbooks too!" she exclaimed and picked up her cup of coffee and downed it.

Andromeda laughed despite herself. " _You_? A mother? I can't imagine it."

"I'm deeply maternal!" she argued, "Maxie has the greatest life. Any dog would kill to have me as a mother."

"Spoiling isn't parenting," her sister remarked, smirking, "And Max is _the_ most spoiled creature on the planet."

As Narcissa began to reply, a loud commotion of them began with flutters of wings. Owls of many different sizes soared through the air, some flapping madly with overlarge packages. A tawny owl landed neatly next to Andromeda and extended its leg for her. She accepted a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and placed a knut in its ankle pouch.

An eagle owl smashed through the bowls of porridge and skipped to a stop next to Narcissa. Andromeda and Narcissa watched it apprehensively. Suddenly, it stuck its leg out and uncurled a thick roll of parchment with her name on it. She knew immediately who it was from, and she accepted the letter. The owl drank from the milk container and then soared off to the Owlery to rest.

"Lucius giving you your demands for the year?" Andy asked slyly.

Narcissa read two sentences and rolled her eyes. She handed Andromeda the letter.

"Yes," she said, "See for yourself what my demands are."

 _Dear Cissy,_

 _I'm writing this to you at night in the hopes you will receive it by breakfast. My parents send their love, and they won't stop peering over my shoulder until I write it in—there, okay, they have left. Since I am not going to Hogwarts again and you are, I have been allotted several tasks in preparation for the wedding. In other words, I am justifiably miserable without you here. Let me know when your first Hogsmeade trip is, and I will come up to meet you._

 _I won't keep you from your studies, as I am sure you will be plenty busy with N.E.W.T.S. I have written to Beauxbatons to see if they will accept you as a remote study student. Mum says she did it for her final year, though she was a student there. It might not hurt to extend the same query to Dumbledore, though you might be too far to attend the exams when the time comes._

 _When you have the time, tell me how your first day went. I want to hear about everything through your eyes, even if you think it is mundane. Enclosed, I have a drawing of Bast sleeping on the window sill. He stayed in that spot for sixteen hours._

 _Yours,_

 _Lucius_

Andromeda handed her the letter back, the smug expression erased from her face. Narcissa held her coffee cup to her lips as she read. When she was finished, she picked up the last piece of parchment. Professor Bastien was curled on a window. Lucius used the window and section it into four pieces of time. The section close to the cat's tail was morning, then the sun rose above its back. A silvery waning gibbous was above his head, in between his pointed ears.

"I didn't know he drew," Andromeda said curiously, "He sounds…happy. I didn't think he possessed that emotion."

Narcissa scoffed and folded the parchment neatly. She placed the photo of Bast in one of her books so that it wouldn't crumble.

"I think he loves you, Narcissa," her sister announced.

Narcissa bit her lip to keep from laughing. She raised her eyebrows. "You know, I think you might just be right."

They collected their schedules as they were passed around. Narcissa scraped up a handful of owls and was allowed to attend Potions, Charms, Herbology, Transfiguration, Alchemy, and Astronomy. Andromeda busied herself in her schedule, her face flush with the rise of panic.

Professor Flitwick approached the end of the Slytherin table and placed a scroll with names on it next to the both of Narcissa.

"I expected _your_ name to be one of the first," he squeaked.

"Mine?" she asked, "Whatever for—oh. Dueling Club? Me?"

Andromeda automatically began to scribble her name down, as Flitwick was one of her favorites. "Did someone cast _Obliviate_ on you, Narcissa? You dueled last year with Mara and Candra."

"Your smart use of Transfiguration was quite useful," Flitwick said, "You should sign up, Miss Black, you might just enjoy it."

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, and then nodded. "Well, all right. What's the harm?"

She signed her name beneath Andy's and flashed her a hopeful smile. Dueling Club seemed ridiculous; she was sure there were many others that were properly trained. She thought of Bellatrix, who was capable of dueling multiple people at once. She would hardly be that good. Besides, all Narcissa had really done was perform a few defensive spells. For the most part, she hadn't harmed Mara or Candra at all.

"You should ask Professor Dumbledore about studying when you are in France," Andromeda encouraged, as she stole a glance at her sister's schedule, "Alchemy—we'll have that together. There's not enough people to fill it, so they have to add the years together."

Narcissa was shocked, but pleased. She never had a class with any of her sisters since they were older.

"Brilliant!" she exclaimed.

Andy nodded her head and downed the very last dredges of her coffee. She stood up and pulled her bag over her shoulders.

"Well, see you then, I've got Arithmancy," she said airily.

Narcissa watched her figure disappear out of the Great Hall doors, and then she too collected her things. Before she left for the hall, she glanced at the staff table and found the Headmaster watching her keenly, with a kind smile. She bit her lip. She didn't know where his office was, it might be the only chance she had. She dashed over to the staff table and stepped lightly onto the small raised platform.

"Professor," she said, holding the straps of her bag, "I'm sorry to interrupt your meal, but could I…ask you something?"

"Of course, Miss Black," he said, peering down at her from his half-moon spectacles.

"Does Hogwarts offer remote study?" she asked, "So…in the case that I couldn't be here for my seventh year to prepare for the N.E.W.T.S."

He appraised her quietly for a moment and then nodded. "How about this? Let's meet in my office this evening. I'll have Professor Slughorn collect you and bring you after dinner, and we can discuss it at length. Would this be acceptable?"

She tried to keep her excitement concealed, and she nodded curtly. "Yes, of course, sir," she replied.

"Very well!" he replied brightly, "Off you go then. Professor McGonagall doesn't permit tardiness, does she?"

"Not at all, sir," she replied, and tipped her feet back from the platform.

She hurried from the Great Hall, her heart so full of hope it could have burst.


	19. 19

"You told him you love the rain

and now he never sleeps during storms.

Not because he's afraid;

because they remind him of you."

m.m.s.

High above the snowcapped mountains a drip of water echoed through a low pitch black cavern, the only source of light came from a small lantern of green flames that licked against the wall, leaving scorch marks in high casted shadows. A woman muttered to herself and paced back and forth, occasionally taking manic glances at the manor below. Glittering warm lights winked back at her from the tiny squares of windows, and she shivered, clutching her bony arms and twisting the thin material around her body for warmth. Her teeth were chattering so loudly she didn't hear the soft swish of cloak from behind her.

"Bella, stop pacing," the cold voice drawled.

She stopped at once and whirled around. "Master," she whispered, dropping to her feet, crawling across the earth to the man in a warm cloak. She slipped up to her knees and ran her hands lovingly up his legs, her fingers pressed upon his skin with desire. "I have missed you," she murmured, closing her eyes.

"Missed me so much you could scarcely keep your legs closed from Rodolphus," he remarked coldly. "Do not lie to me. I know every thought in your head. I _told_ you to never lie with him after your marriage bed ceremony. You have not been _loyal_ to me, Bellatrix. _Crucio_!"

She fell onto her back and writhed, howling in pain. She arched her back and gasped as he tilted his head, observing her as though she were a miniscule speck of dirt on an otherwise spotless floor. She was panting and drooling, her eyes rolled in her head and she screamed for his mercy. She rolled onto her stomach and sobbed. Mercy she hadn't earned, he thought. Mercy she didn't deserve.

He released her from the spell and she relaxed against the ground. The only sound around them was the swift night air, breezing into the cave, her soft moans, and the constant echo of water droplets.

He flicked his wand and ropes appeared from the ground and tied her hands and legs. He kicked her hard and rolled her over onto her back again so that he could stare into her eyes. His red, ruby eyes met her heavily lidded ones and she groaned in pain. Visions of her moments with Rodolphus erupted in front of her mind as he exposed her crimes.

"Master, please," she whispered furiously, "I can't bear it. Please stop."

"In time," he said, his eyes flashing angrily. "You're going to do something for me to make up for your treachery."

"Anything," she moaned.

He narrowed his eyes with mistrust. The cool night wind seemed frosty swirling around them and a shiver went down her spine. She interpreted this as merely physical, convinced and so drunk on him that she no longer knew how her body reacted to fear.

"The pureblood community has not welcomed me with open arms as I expected they would. The true heir of Salazar Slytherin has been rejected from his own people, if you could imagine."

"Master, I will never reject you—"

" _Quiet_ , you simpering harlot!" he snapped, "You will have your part to play. They want to cloister for safety in their mansions and their superiority complexes, laughing at everyone they think is beneath them, let them. I'll destroy them from the bottom and climb their corpses to the _top_."

He stood up and released Bellatrix, who remained on the ground trying to steady her breathing. He flicked his wand and she was yanked to her feet and pulled to him. She pulled her robes around her body for protection from the chill night air. He walked out of the cave and she followed him. She knew these woods better than she did Hogwarts; she and Narcissa spent most of their childhood here in the cave and on the cliffs (she dared not mention the third, dishonorable sister). She sauntered to the edge of the cliff to stand slightly behind him. She watched his robes ripple out behind him in the breeze.

"I want the Malfoy boy at my side," the Dark Lord announced, looking down at him, "but I do not have the footing into society as I need to in order to persuade him."

Bellatrix curled her lip in jealousy, "What could Lucius offer you that I cannot? Surely you do not suggest _power_ —I'm the greatest duelist of my year. I can duel five Aurors at once if you let me, Master, and I would do so, gladly, a thousand times over. What does _he_ possess that I do not?"

A small triumphant smile played at the fringe the Dark Lord's mouth, but he stared across the line of trees at the Black manor.

"Not all soldiers have the same talents," he said airily, "No, I need someone with real influence. Someone that could sway Ministry votes. Lucius has the pedigree required, and the gold to fund my ambitions. If only your sniveling little sister wasn't so protective. She has an incredible influence on his decisions."

Bellatrix's eyes gleamed menacingly. "Master, Narcissa could be taken care of in an instant. You need only ask."

"I thought you might volunteer your efforts," he replied, turning away from the Black manor. "Your sister is none of my concern. She has no real power. But there is one person. Your father must be dealt with soon; he holds a great deal of political power and extracting him from the equation creates a political alliance with the Malfoys; Druella Black, I'm told, would do anything for the Malfoy family..."

Bellatrix hesitated. "You're asking me to kill my father."

He turned and cupped her face gently, his long pale fingers sliding along her jaw in the neatest, tenderest caress. "I'm asking you to destroy your slaver. And when that's done, the world is yours. By the time I am done with the Wizarding world, Bellatrix Black, you'll have more freedom than you could ever dream of."

The tight expression on her lips as she cast a cold glare to the Black manor, her eyes staring at the window she knew to be her father's bedroom, told him everything. He took her by the wrist and forcefully Apparated her back to her husband's bed where she belonged.

The wind howled against the windows softly as Narcissa looked out of the tower. Dumbledore's office was bathed in warm light from lanterns around the room; the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses snoozed quietly, though she had a sneaking suspicion that some of the soft snores were fake, as she heard feverish whispering just before Professor Slughorn led her up to the office.

The office door opened once more, and the Headmaster came in wearing brilliant blue robes. She turned away from the window, and he seemed quite surprised to see her standing there, despite having told her to wait in the first place.

"Curious, what students choose to linger on in this office," he said, stepping over to his desk and sitting behind the high backed chairs. "Many are interested in the many instruments you see around you. The window draws your attention."

Her tongue was thick, stuck to the roof of her mouth. She quickly took a seat in front of him in the hard backed chair and placed her hands into her lap. Her nerves were palpable, although he was nothing but inviting.

"Biscuit?" he offered, with a wave of his wand.

A bowl filled up with ginger newts and chocolate biscuits. She accepted the chocolate one but placed it in her lap.

"Professor, thank you for seeing me on such short notice," Narcissa said.

His eyes were twinkling with a certain kind of mischief she didn't understand. He inclined his head and waved his hand, a gesture meant to keep her speaking.

Narcissa looked at the floor for a moment and then back up. "Well, sir, I wanted to ask you about studying remotely for my N.E.W.T.S. I'll be in France, and well, technically finished with school because I'm marrying Lucius Malfoy, and he's currently in contact with Beauxbatons, erm—to see if they would allow remote study."

"Lucius Malfoy was an excellent student," the Headmaster remarked, "Incredibly gifted in Ancient Runes and Herbology," he leaned in against the desk, "A little reckless with that intelligence, between you and me, and perhaps a poor choice for a Prefect," he added, smiling, and leaned back against the desk. "Ah, but he was afflicted deeply by young love."

Nothing about what she had just said seemed to permeate through him. She chose, instead of interrupting, to quietly break apart the biscuit and chuck a piece of it into her mouth.

At this, he began to speak again, "I see no reason why you should not be able to attend your studies. Indeed, I spoke with your teachers and they seemed inclined to believe it would be a great travesty to keep you from your exams, given the nature of your situation. The world has moved on, but the pureblood society is slow to change. Entirely possibly, of course, and so it does in the long run, but so many generations go on…"

A thrill was going through her heart as he spoke. She shook herself (the biscuit fell to the floor unnoticed by anyone but the magnificent beast, Fawkes, in the corner, who eyed it hungrily) and bounced her legs against the floor. She could hardly contain her excitement.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed.

"Of course," he remarked, "Professor Slughorn also mentioned you were not given career advice in your fifth year, because it was not anticipated that you would pursue one."

A…career? Working never occurred to her. She knew that the statement alone was ridiculous, but she was meant to be a housewife. It was her duty to serve her husband. Of course, Lucius was not like the other pureblood men, he encouraged much of her freedoms and delights, but at some point, she knew she would reach a strong boundary. Working might just have been one of them.

"My family is independently wealthy, the women do not work," she said, "I'm sure Professor Slughorn was aware of that."

Dumbledore nodded, "Indeed, the rest of the staff were aware of it too. Still, one could always have a hobby, Miss Black."

"Of course, sir," she said, entertaining him, though she did not consider an alternative hobby to those she already possessed.

Professor Dumbledore stared hard at her, his blue eyes piercing through her. "Have you given any thought to Healing, Miss Black?"

"No, not at all," she replied immediately, "My mother is quite gifted, but I—"

"Oh yes," he interrupted, "I remember her. Had it not been for her marriage to your father, your mother was slotted to take on the role that Madam Pomfrey now occupies."

Her mind reeled. Her mother accepted a _job_ before she was married? It did not seem possible; her mother, possessed by tradition and the subjugation of women to their husbands.

"Professor," Narcissa said slowly, "Forgive me for asking, but would you allow your wife to work, if she wished?"

"Never married," he remarked carefully, folding his arms together on the table, "But yes, I should think I would have no qualms whatsoever about my partner working."

"But you were raised on the traditions, sure—"

Albus Dumbledore lifted his head in sudden realization, "Ah, Miss Black, I believe I understand your query. You must not have heard my history from your parents, or perhaps some of the others in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I am not, in fact, a pureblood."

"You're the greatest wizard in the world," Narcissa said, screwing up her face in confusion, "How are you not a pureblood?"

He laughed merrily. "A question asked for the many ages I have lived. Now, Miss Black, I think we should both agree that it is quite late. We will arrange your remote schooling closer to the time that it comes; in the meantime, enjoy your final year in the castle."

"Thank you, sir," Narcissa remarked graciously, and swept up from the chair.

She watched the phoenix ruffle his enormous orange and red plumage and nestle his head into his shoulder. She turned swiftly from the desk and the Headmaster and walked across the threshold to the door. Her fingers brushed the metal doorknob, and just before she turned it, she stopped and faced the aging Headmaster again.

"Sir?" she asked into the quiet, peaceful silence.

"Yes, Miss Black?" he asked.

"If _you_ aren't pureblood," she said, quickly, her heart hammering in her chest, "Does it even matter?"

He peered over his spectacles at her and a soft smile played across his face. "No, Narcissa. I should say that the great equalizer for us all has always been death."

She left the room silently, her head full of words and thoughts she could not unravel. She knew only that his words tugged at the fragile fabrics of her society, and she knew if she thought about it hard enough, the rug would unravel from underneath her.

Narcissa wrote by wand light in an empty classroom nearest the Owlery, and only occasionally did she stop the scratching of her quill against the parchment to listen for sounds of Filch or Mrs. Norris.

 _Lucius,_

 _I hope this finds you in time. The Headmaster approved the remote study, so I can finish with Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons. Thank you for the idea; it worked wonderfully. I have also procured some interesting facts about my mother by speaking with him. I think it might be in my best interest to also question some of the other teachers, if I have the time. Professor McGonagall, I think, might be my mother's age. There is also Professor Slughorn, but I hate to bother him, as I imagine I will be dragged into Slug Club._

 _Write me soon of any news, and of course of how you are spending your time._

 _Yours,_

 _Narcissa Black_

She rolled the parchment up hastily into tightly bound scroll and sprinted out of the classroom. She clambered up the stairs to the Owlery. A painful stitch pulsed in her side, and Narcissa clutched her abdomen as she made it to the top. She picked one of the few school owls perched on the beams; the rest of the owls must have been hunting. She tied it to the owl's leg.

"Lucius Malfoy," she whispered calmly, "It's important, so be quick about it, please."

The owl gave a hoot and took off rapidly from the window and into the night. Narcissa caught her breath for a moment, and then she hurried quietly down the stairs. The way down was a great deal easier on her body than the way up, and for this she was thankful.

As she opened the door, she turned the corner into the dark corridor and careened into a tall, solid figure holing a small, rattling iron lantern up to her face.

"Student out of bed," Argus Filch announced, his jowls quivering, his teeth barred in what Narcissa thought might have been an expression of glee for him.

"I-I…" she backed away from him.

She groaned miserably. It was extremely unlikely that she would be able to make a run for it.

"Detention, I think, Miss Black," he said haughtily, "Caught you red handed, I did…well, come to my office then, girl…"

Narcissa sighed and trudged after him, choosing to breathe out of her mouth rather than her nose, as he smelled strongly of moth balls and mildew. His straggly, limp hair around his head appeared to have never bore witness to a faucet. She was incredibly angry and ashamed with herself for not being quieter, or at the least be cleverer. But there was no time to create a sort of diversion, was there? She sighed again and followed him slowly down the staircase.

Filch walked placidly in front of her, muttering to himself. Narcissa had never received detention before, but she knew what it mostly composed of. Muggle cleaning, she knew, or filing. Though not afraid to garden without gloves, and no doubt, Narcissa was accustomed to scraping dirt from beneath her fingernails, the idea of cleaning without magic was quite honestly stressful. She knew that her mother scrubbed the manor herself in anxious frenzies, but she never understood the point.

As they passed a statue of a hunched over witch, she heard someone whisper a spell ( _"Confundo_!") and Filch stopped in the middle of the corridor. Narcissa nearly collided with him, but stopped just short with her arms opened, and she inhaled sharply through her nose by accident and felt her stomach turn at the smell of him. And then behind her, she heard a great explosion of sound, as though several desks had just been lifted and then dropped onto the stone floor.

A hand wrenched her out of the way, behind the statue. She clipped her shoulder and yelped in pain. Filch snarled and ran in the direction they had just come, screeching, "PEEVES!"

Narcissa swore loudly over the near miss she had with detention. She turned to see who her savior was and found the lank haired boy Lucius liked—Severus Snape.

"That was…chivalrous of you," she murmured, "but why?"

"Slytherins should stick together," he replied placidly, but his eyes were roving around the darkness.

"Is it safe to make a go for it?" she whispered.

He waited a few more moments. They heard Filch scream—it was still far away. He nodded, and they bolted out from behind the statute. Narcissa outstripped him and hurtled down the staircase, leaping over the vanishing stair methodically. She tore down the dungeons and barreled down the corridor, Snape gasping for breath behind her, but he could tail her. They stopped in front of the common room and whispered the password, and then ran through.

Narcissa dabbed the sweat at her forehead with the back of her palm and placed her other hand on her hip. "Whew, near miss. Thanks, Severus, I didn't know how I was going to get out of that one."

"Do tell me what the two of you have been doing after curfew together," a sharp voice called out to them in the darkness.

Her sister stood in front of the dying fire, her arms across her chest and a stern expression Narcissa knew mirrored her mother's perfectly.

"Filch caught me on the way back from the Headmaster, so I am quite innocent!" Narcissa said testily.

"Walking back from a private lesson with Slughorn," Severus grunted, "I've got a note, if you want—"

Andromeda waved her hand, looking exhausted, "No, no, go to bed both of you. It was not you two that I wanted to catch sneaking about anyway."

"Who was it?" Narcissa demanded.

Her sister scowled deeply at her. "Go to _bed_ , Narcissa."

It seemed that not even the crumbling foundation of their family between them could coerce Andromeda to treat her as anything other than her baby sister. The thought both infuriated and touched her, and she was agitated by both emotions existing simultaneously. Not one to let her sister fully have her way, Narcissa made a show of stomping up the stairs to her dorm room, and she let it slam shut tightly. From the adjoining walls, she heard the other Slytherin girls curse and groan from the rude awakening, but Narcissa didn't care.


	20. 20

"We can do anything

if we put our minds to it.

Take your whole life,

then you put a line through it."

Benny Blanco

The milky sun pierced through the puffs of clouds in the early morning. It even seemed to penetrate through the darkness of the lake, for when Narcissa woke, the portrait hole where the water lapped ominously against the glass seemed a little less murky. She leapt from bed and snatched up her wand—this Saturday was not one in which she could lounge through midmorning. She dressed in a hurry in a forest green cloak clasped hastily to her throat, and she wound her hair into bouncy, long waves with her wand. She stowed her wand in her robe pocket and slipped her shoes on and hurried from the dorm.

She slipped by a group of second year girls in their pajamas, shuffling down the corridor slowly and complaining about the poor sleep from the evening before. Andy was by the exit when she appeared, and her eyes widened when she saw the excitement across Narcissa's face, the seemingly permanent blush that flushed across her cheeks.

"I assume, then, that you won't be going to Hogsmeade with _me_?" she asked, as the wall slid open and the girls slipped through into the mostly empty dungeon corridor. A few Hufflepuffs were clambering toward the stairs for breakfast.

"Lucius confirmed he'll be here this morning," Narcissa answered, nervously rearranging her cloak.

Andromeda clucked her tongue. "And here I thought you curled your hair for little old me."

"Stop it," Narcissa whined, nudging her in the side.

"All as well, isn't it, since I've procured a date myself," Andromeda said, her dark eyes twinkling softly.

"Good for you," Narcissa said, "I thought for many years that the only thing worthy of your attention was a book. It's good to see that I am wrong."

Her older sister rolled her eyes, but she spared Narcissa the details of her date. Narcissa had an inkling why; the trust between them was tenuous, close to collapse at any moment. One argument over pureblood values might place a wedge in between them permanently. And Narcissa knew that blood status was of no real importance to her sister.

The puzzling conversation with Dumbledore made its way round to Narcissa, and she decided now was not the time to question her sister's philosophy, if there would ever be a time. Like Bellatrix, she knew she could not dictate the decisions of her family members the way that her mother and father thought possible, and so she reserved her judgment.

The cold air was crisp in her lungs as she and Andromeda parted—her sister to the Great Hall to have breakfast first, and Narcissa straight out of the doors to Hogsmeade. She was one of the first few straggling students queueing up to leave, as most of the students were having breakfast. Narcissa waited her turn in line, her eyes on Filch as he passed over the names and waved students on. She hoped he didn't remember that he had been trying to give her detention.

As she stepped in front of him, he squinted hard at her and grunted. He seemed to swell like a puffer fish, spitting with rage, but he also wore an expression of surprise, as though angry with her but he could not discover why. After a few moments where Narcissa stood, rooted to the ground and unbreathing, he barked at her to keep moving.

Her body tingled with relief as she hurried by him. She couldn't fathom how unfair it would have been to have Lucius so close and yet impossible to reach. She could hardly keep herself from sprinting up the path to the village just to find him faster, but she made sure her footsteps were light and careful, the proper pace of a lady that was not terribly brisk, but not so slow she might be mistaken for seventy. She knew that they would only have the afternoon together, but it felt as though it had been ages since she laid eyes on him.

As the sun rose higher into the sky and capped behind the mountains, Narcissa arrived over the small hill to the village. The morning was already busy, and the cool fall air wafted in through the open doors of the shops. And there, leaning against a stone building that housed a bookstore, was Lucius Malfoy in handsome grey robes. His arms were crossed as he read from a book levitating in front of him. The book seemed inclined to turn the pages only when his eyes roamed to the end of the page. She stood in the middle of the road, watching him.

Somehow, he seemed different, though she knew he could not have aged much in a mere matter of months. Despite this, his jaw seemed squarer, his high cheek bones finely etched into the marble of his skin. His shoulders seemed broader, though Lucius was still lanky, his body thin, mostly legs. He was so engrossed in what he was reading that she walked right up to him. She placed her palms on the front and back cover of the book and snapped it shut with a flourish. He was startled from his calm stupor and braced himself against the stone to keep from falling.

"Cissy!" he exclaimed.

"Dramatic," she said, wrinkling her nose and laughing at him.

He stared at her with such ferocity that she was sure, were it not for the village of people around them, he would have taken her in his arms. His fingers took the book from her grasp carefully, and he stowed it in the pocket of his robes. The book fell in with a clatter, suggesting he was carrying more than it seemed.

"I know it has only been a month and yet it feels as though an age has passed," he said, "I admit I took the last few years with you in my vicinity so often for granted."

Narcissa wrapped her arm around his and guided him away from the bookstore. "I missed you too, Lucius," she said.

"You must tell me everything about the start of term," he encouraged.

Lucius opened the door to The Three Broomsticks and warmth spread over her face and hands. The familiar clang of tankards and dishes rumbled across the room and a hearth roared to life with fire in a corner of the room. They wove their way around to a booth and sat across from one another.

"You received my letter this morning about remotely studying?" Narcissa asked him, as she unclasped the emerald cloak and draped it down the back of her chair.

"Of course, excellent news, actually, because Beauxbatons rejected the proposal because you were not a previous student," he remarked, and his lips twitched as he added, "Mother left this morning to berate the Headmistress."

"Surely you told her Hogwarts would allow it," she commented, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Oh yes," he replied, "That did not seem to…er…curb her temper."

A young waitress appeared at their table side. "'Ello, what'll it be?"

"Two butterbeers," Lucius replied without looking at her, his focus instead still on Narcissa, "Anyway, you said he mentioned your mother?"

The waitress left their side and Narcissa nodded. "Yes. Dumbledore said that if it were not for my mother marrying my father, he was going to hire her in Madam Pomfrey's place as matron."

He folded his arms against the table and pursed his lips in thought. "You realize that must mean she had truly outstanding N.E.W.T. scores if she was a Healer."

"What are the requirements?" Narcissa asked.

"At least five N.E.W.T.S," he replied, "In Herbology and Transfiguration, I think. Potions and Charms for sure."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Narcissa finished, " _Or_ Alchemy as an elective in the place."

The waitress returned to their table and placed the frothy tankards in front of them, but neither Lucius or Narcissa seemed particularly keen to drink them.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"Because that's what I'm taking this year," she replied, "and Dumbledore specifically mentioned whether or not I had considered becoming a Healer."

Lucius took a drink from the overflowing glass and then placed it back onto the heavy wooden table. "And have you?" he asked.

"Well—no—Lucius, we'll be married," she remarked.

He shrugged. "So?"

She stared at him for a long moment in confusion. " _So_ , women aren't allowed to work."

"Funny, I think the woman who gave us our drinks was working," he said lightly.

She rolled her eyes. "Ha. Ha. You know what I mean. For women like _me_. I'm supposed to be pregnant within our year abroad."

He frowned deeply and shook his head. "Merlin, please let it not be that soon. My parents waited seven years to have me. Everyone thought my mother was incapable and mocked her for it, but it was my father who wanted to wait. Of course, they now say she waited too long and that is the reason they only had one child, but my parents never wanted more than me."

"Your parents broke all the rules and they're still beloved by the community. I don't understand. Not even the Malfoy name is impervious to scandal," Narcissa said.

"Your mother was a Healer that almost went to work with Dumbledore," Lucius commented, "it does not sound as if your mother was very good at following the rules back then either. Yet, she is also beloved."

Narcissa did not understand why her mother was insistent upon being so rigid with the rules if plenty had broken them and were still well respected. The Malfoy name provided a strong shield, no doubt, but did the Rosier name? Her mother was married _after_ taking her N.E.W.T.S. She must have completed all seven years at Hogwarts and prepared herself for being gainfully employed when…something…happened that took her away from her dreams, that stripped her of the future she must have desperately wanted. She was filled with more questions now than when she started the infuriating foray into her mother's history.

"I wonder if it would not behoove you to ask about your father," Lucius said, clearly he had been thinking along the same lines as she, "History mostly reflects on the deeds of men, not women, so your mother might have slipped through the cracks. The actions of your _father_ however…it might be worthwhile to investigate."

"Clever," she said, "I wonder if we could somehow find the original marriage contract between them. Surely they keep them somewhere?"

Lucius's eyes flashed suddenly. He was so excited by what she said that he nearly sloshed the golden liquid from the tankard onto the table. "Yes, they do. Every contract involving asset trade or purchasing would have a contract filed with the Ministry; the records date back far enough that my mother was able to procure the original sale of land for the Malfoy manor."

"Each arranged marriage has a transfer attached to it, right? Our fathers were haggling over the Black Manor properties for our arrangement," she said.

"Of course, they have filed it already," he replied, "I will ask my mother whom she spoke with to find the information; I am sure she will assume I am doing family history research and won't alert my father."

She beamed at him. "I could just kiss you, Lucius!"

His cheeks turn lightly pink, and he stammered over his sentences for a few moments and then haphazardly took a long drink, obscuring his face. She smiled and looked down at the table.

They finished their drinks and braved the cool air and timid sunshine and slowly strolled down the village toward the trail leading up the mountains. The morning turned to afternoon, and the streets were nearly full of Hogwarts students. Narcissa thought she caught sight of her sister ducking into Madam Puddifoot's at one point.

"I am incredibly jealous that you are taking Alchemy," Lucius admitted, "No one else wanted to elect it in my year except myself and a few Ravenclaws. I tried to convince Abraham to join—it probably would have made it had he obliged me—but he said it was too experimental."

" _Experimental_?" Narcissa asked, "You mean…it's _magic_?"

Lucius laughed. "He had no time for wand waving, he was only ever interested in Arithmancy."

"Arithmancy, one of the schools of divination?" she retorted, "Sure, that doesn't sound experimental at all."

"Agreed," he replied, his voice still ringing from laughter, "And the Dueling Club, no doubt inspired by you and your sister's outburst last year. I would have liked to join that as well. Shame. You don't realize just how much academia means to you until you're no longer a part of it," Lucius said, his words tumbling from him in a rush, as if he had held all of their possible conversations within himself until he could see her again, "I have been doing much independent study in the absence of regular mandatory subjects, however. Which reminds me—"

He stopped and rummaged in the pockets of his cloak until he pulled a small square ring box from his pocket. Narcissa watched him carefully untie the ribbon around the box and open it for her. Inside was a blue sapphire stone etched with the unmistakable sign of a rune.

"I knew how much you liked your other ones, so I tried my hand at making them," he said, "Although, if I do say so myself, I've made vast improvements to the ones in St. Ottery Catchpole."

"Can I use it now?" she asked him excitedly.

"Oh, well, yes," he told her, and took her by the arm, "Away from others, of course."

They walked outside of the village to the foot of the mountain and stopped.

He tapped the rune and the world around her shifted. The foyer of the Malfoy Manor gleamed in perfect visage around her. She stared up at the blank portraits lining the walls, where the Malfoy ancestry should have been snoozing within the frames. She noticed too that she could smell the fresh breeze of autumn air, but the wind was still.

"It takes on the image of anything you can remember vividly," he explained.

He motioned for her to follow him and she did down the left hallway, where she knew housed the kitchen. Indeed, he opened the door to the kitchen and she slipped through. The sudden memory of their first meeting hit her—she looked at the counter he helped her onto as he assessed her ankle. Curious then, she thought as she looked at him, how she had no idea what was going to transpire between them in the following year.

"It's ah…a bit more interactive," he said, promptly opening one of the cupboards and throwing a cup across the room. It crashed and broke into pieces onto the floor, but no House Elf came to scoop the glass or up repair it.

"So, if I were to read a book from the library, or garden perhaps, others would see me...with the object or miming the act of reading and gardening?" Narcissa asked, crossing her arms.

Lucius smiled brightly. "On the contrary," he said, "It places a strong Disillusionment Charm in the general area around us, so someone would have to walk into the rune's charm in order to see you. _However_ , I also added in a little security measure. The area turns red when someone is approaching, so that you can move out of their way as they walk by you."

Narcissa looked around at the sweetly lit room. "Can you change the time of day?"

"Yes," Lucius said, tapping on the stone again.

She watched the light from the window slowly shift to darkness. She turned around the room. The shadows were slanted down the walls behind her. While she could still feel the morning air, the floor beneath her had turned to tile.

"Or, if you prefer…" Lucius murmured.

The room turned immediately into the Slytherin Common Room. She was breathless with the easy transition.

"Lucius, this is highly complex magic," she said, turning to face him, " _One_ rune does all of this?"

He nodded his head imperceptibly. "Of course. Why carry multiple ones around that only _guess_ at what you want?"

"And you said no one can see us?" she asked him.

"No," he replied easily.

She leaped into his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist, and kissed him furiously.

* * *

Her lungs took ravaged gulps of air in as she crawled across the floor slowly, blood oozing thick and sticky from her hair onto the floor. Her palms too were filthy and covered in blood, dragging desperate bloody palm marks across the glossy wooden floor. She was certain one of her ribs were broken.

"Loyalty," Lord Voldemort hissed softly, gliding across the dark room in near silence, only the sound of his robes swishing against the floor, " _Loyalty_ , Bella, do you understand? It's a Gryffindor trait, you might not be familiar with the _concept.._."

"Regulus," Bellatrix cried out, "Regulus, help…"

"Silence!" Lord Voldemort cried, "You were given a task, were you not? And what did you do?"

"My Lord, I swear, I just haven't found the right moment to kill him!" Bellatrix insisted, "I'm not even supposed to leave my h-husband for a year."

She felt his cloak touch her ankle and he suddenly reached down and ripped her from the floor by the neck. He leaned in so close to ear that none of the others watching could hear her. "Tell me who your real husband is?" he asked her.

"Y-You, My Lord," she cried.

He released her neck. "I am merciful, Bellatrix, it's such a curse," he said. He paused for a long moment and then kicked her hard in the ribs. Blood erupted in her throat and she vomited it onto the ground and screamed in pain. She rolled to try and escape him, but he pinned her arms and legs to the floor with a quick flit of his wand. "Kill him by Christmas, or I'll dispose of you myself."

She nodded furiously. "Of course," she said, her voice hoarse and her eyes full of terror. "Of course, My Lord, it will be done."

"Regulus fetch your cousin a Healer," Lord Voldemort retorted coldly, "She'll need one when I am done with her."

Bellatrix's eyes widened as Lord Voldemort raised his wand again. Her screams could be heard through the entire house as Regulus quickly escaped the drawing room and out into the night.


	21. 21

"I believe in you—

words that water flowers."

Michael Faudet

The final warmth in autumn filtered in light rays through the high arched windows as Narcissa walked down the corridor, absently chewing her thumbnail while she read a letter. Her hair was braided from the top of her head in two Dutch braids down her back, flowing over her heavy, book laden backpack. She flipped the next page of parchment over and stared in rapt wonder at the document in her hands. She could hardly contain her excitement; a blush of crimson rose in her cheeks and a small smile formed her lips.

"Another letter in the romantic saga featuring Malfoy?" Andromeda drawled, appearing at her side from her last class of the day before dinner.

"On the _contrary_ ," she replied, waving the parchment frantically at Andy, but snatching it away when her sister attempted to grasp it. "What I have here is a copy of the marriage contract between our parents."

Andromeda soured immediately and rolled her eyes, body poised in obvious disgruntlement. "Why would you be interested in something like that?"

"Because," Narcissa said, stopping abruptly, "I have a theory. Well, Lucius and I have a theory."

"Oh, do tell what seemingly pointless mystery of the past you two have drudged up," Andy remarked with a heavy sigh, but Narcissa knew she was keen to know the details.

Several students bumped past them in the hall and Andromeda interrupted her by hollering at them fiercely. The guilty Hufflepuffs hurried down the hall, anxious to separate themselves between the Slytherins.

The marriage contract looked completely normal at first glance. Lucius procured his parents' contract as well (written in both English and French) in a steadfast attempt to mollify his parents' curiosities that he was merely studying family history should they inquire. There were hardly any differences, of course, except for a small section in her mother's marriage contract that mentioned their union guaranteed her ownership of a small cottage in Guernsey. Not only was it extremely rare that women were granted property at all, but the contract did not specify whom the previous owner was—typically when estates were signed over to different family, the contracts made note that one family was transferring it to the other. She thought it strange that it was mentioned at all when the main focus should have been over the procurement of Black Manor, which in fact was not mentioned at all. She wondered then about the decades of debate between her aunt and uncle about the proper ownership of the main family estate, and what her father had done in order to live there.

Narcissa launched into her current running theory about her mother to Andromeda, who did her best to convey passivity and not burn with curiosity. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned that Hogwarts nearly hired her as a Healer here, which means our dear mother must have completed all seven years. Plus, the certification process as a Healer," she said.

"Cissy, that only means our mother was deeply privileged and purposefully sought to disparage her daughters," Andy said icily, "This knowledge actually makes me even more disgusted with her."

Narcissa folded the contract up and placed it into the pockets of her robes. The two of them walked down the wide staircase from the third floor onto the second as they headed to the library. Narcissa had a free period now and thought she might study Alchemy with Andromeda before her last class of the evening. After dinner, the first Dueling Club meeting was occurring in the Great Hall. Narcissa expected she would need to see Madam Pomfrey before the end of the night.

"That might have been my conclusion as well," Narcissa remarked, though in fact she knew it would not have been at all. She did not hold her mother in the same light as her sister. "Except I heard Abraxas Malfoy apologize for allowing her to marry our father, and then he admitted to me at Bellatrix's wedding that he was in love with her once. Mum nearly admitted it to me herself as well."

She didn't understand how the mystery did not intrigue her sister. The woman behind the façade of their society and motherhood was someone intrinsically wild, someone who might have been a bit rebellious and just as determined in her educational pursuits as they were. Clearly, she met a crossroads and made a decision. Of course, the word decision might have very well been a dangerous ultimatum.

Andromeda rolled her eyes. It was clear she did not share Narcissa's enthusiasm or perhaps even understand her preoccupation with their mother's history.

"You know, with you being the only blonde, and this nasty little rumor that our mother consorted with the Malfoy family, you and Lucius _might_ consider that you're actually siblings," Andy retorted, "Everyone in the Black family is dark featured, after all. It's been written for generations."

Narcissa shook her head. "I asked Mum. She said her sister and mother were both blonde like I am."

"You _asked_ her if she had an affair with Abraxas Malfoy and blatantly lied about your birthrights?" Andy asked, her jaw clenching.

"Yes," Narcissa replied.

"And you expected an honest answer?" she repeated and then laughed coldly. "No doubt your dear mother never had her precious Malfoy the way she wanted, and she could never openly announce your relation and thereby your _inheritance_ with the Malfoy money without marrying off her bastard child to the only legitimate one, thus securing her own twisted idea of proper lineage. Why else would she have been so open to marrying you off before she even attempted marrying me off to some unfortunate looking bloke?"

Andromeda's jealousy had never struck Narcissa this much before. She saw it now very clearly: the tender ages of a girl lost in between the vibrancy of Bellatrix and the independent, spirited youngest sibling in Narcissa whom admittedly her mother might have doted on more than her middle child, who always seemed content to be alone. Andromeda created purposeful walls between herself and her family, and most importantly, her society. What was left for the middle child were halfhearted gestures and scraps of affection which for so long she might have clung to, but in the end, it was the bitterness and the anger that brought Andromeda satisfaction.

Narcissa dropped the subject entirely as they entered the library and found a table by a window near the Transfiguration section. She dropped her bag onto the table top and a small silver box fell from the side pocket onto the table. Andromeda snatched it before she could scoop it up again, and she opened it to reveal the rune Lucius had made her.

"What is _this_?" she asked, "You didn't take Ancient Runes, did you? How did you make this?"

"It was a gift from Lucius," she said, reaching for it, but her sister turned her body to block her advances as she ran her finger across the shiny, silver design on the front. "It's a rune that lets you see places that are important to you, to walk around in them and such."

The room around them shifted suddenly, and they were in Andromeda's bedroom at the Black Manor, but it looked drastically different—the four poster bed was missing and in its place was a much smaller children's bed with purple blankets. Floating picture books hovered above the bookshelves at the perfect height of a small child. Toys were scattered across the floor, from coloring pages and paints to child sized Quidditch brooms.

"Wow," Andromeda breathed, touching the floating books delicately, an expression of shock etched across her face as she realized she could touch them. "How does this work, Cissy?"

Narcissa bit her lip slightly and crossed her arms. "It takes you to places you remember really well. It's charmed so that the illusion can feel as real as possible."

"You do it," Andy said, thrusting the rune box into her hand. Narcissa pressed her finger to the sapphire stone and the charm shifted around them to the cave on the cliff overlooking their house, one she knew Andromeda would remember well.

Andromeda walked to the ledge and looked at the massive manor looming on the horizon. From their vantage point, they could even see Narcissa's annual garden bursting into life. No doubt there were already rows of wolfsbane, if they chose to wander over.

"I have others, too," Narcissa announced, "Not this strong, but if you'd like them…"

"You would let me use them?" she asked, narrowing her eyes critically.

"Yes," Narcissa said, laughing incredulously, "You're my sister."

Andy watched her for a long moment, as if trying to discern a possible angle that Narcissa might have for her generosity, but when she could find none she said, "You really aren't like anyone else, are you, Cissy?"

After a few hours of studying, both girls packed their things up and went to dinner, and then prepared for the first Dueling Club meeting. When they returned to the Great Hall after dropping their things off in the common room, they found that the five long tables had disappeared. She had anticipated Professor Flitwick being the primary teacher in charge of the club but was surprised to see Professor McGonagall standing at his side, looking prim and tall next to the small man.

"Gather around, gather around!" Professor Flitwick announced, "This marks the first Dueling Club meeting. Professor McGonagall has been kind enough to assist us facilitating our club. As you may well know, Dueling is not _merely_ Charm work, but a myriad of subjects can be utilized effectively to gain the upper hand over an opponent—"

The first meeting consisted only of lecture, something that clearly disappointed the overcrowded group of students, but Narcissa understood why. It was to dissuade the reckless and impulsive students from attempting the club and to encourage the careful and academics. Andy and Narcissa listened to the lecture and took notes on their length of parchment in order to take the club more seriously.

A Zabini boy left the Great Hall after the meeting, loudly complaining, "It's _Dueling_ Club, not _Snoozing_ club! If I had known we weren't going to get to hex some Gryffindors tonight, I wouldn't have bothered. I have O.W.L.S. after all…"

"I'm certain by next week, the number of students showing up will be halved," Andromeda commented.

"Can't agree with you more," Narcissa muttered.

They walked into the Slytherin common room. Most of the chairs were occupied by other students working on their homework or studying. Only a few were playing chess or idly chatting. It seemed what Slytherins were left were more determined than ever to educate themselves. It was natural—their time here had an expiration date that could come at any moment.

"I think I'll turn in early," Narcissa told her sister, "That lecture nearly put me to sleep, and I've got Potions first thing in the morning with Slughorn, and he will probably try to indoctrinate me into his Slug Club again, so I have to sleep so I don't lose my temper and turn him into Cornish pixie—"

"Cissy, can I talk to you?" Andy interrupted sharply, "before you go to bed? Alone?"

"I-sure," she replied, confused, "My dorm's empty this year."

She guided Andromeda up the stairs to the dorms and opened the sixth year girl's dorm. When they were both inside, her sister locked and charmed the door so that no one could listen in. Narcissa stood in the center of the room, waiting for her to begin.

Andromeda sucked in a gulp of air and then exhaled. She turned around and started to open the door and leave, but then thought better of it and turned around again. This time, her face was extremely pale, and her expression was morose.

"What is it, Andy?" Narcissa asked her quietly, "Whatever it is…just say it."

"I've been… _awful_ to you throughout this entire ordeal," she finally said, "I-I'm your big sister. I never thought of myself that way, you know, because _Bellatrix_ is our big sister, but I realize that I wasn't very kind to you."

"Andy, you're a good sister," Narcissa replied, "We're just different people."

"That's the point!" Andy exclaimed, "I thought our differences made me better than you. You're the daft younger sister with mother's earnest attention, seducing Malfoy to secure our stupid family legacy. You—you got _everything_ , even Bella thinks that way. You are marrying into the best family our stupid society can offer, and he's—Merlin, he's not even _terrible_ , he's clever and wants to take care of you, and he wants to give you everything you've ever wanted. And we thought you were this…stupid little girl who would never stop playing in the woods. I was _wrong_ to think of you like this. Instead of comparing myself to you and trying to push you away all the time, I should have been nicer. I should have shared my levitating pop up books and my toys with you, instead of locking my door and never letting anyone in at all."

The rune, Narcissa remembered, must have dredged something up in her. But in typical fashion of the Black family, issues resurfaced much later.

"Andy," she said softly.

"Cissy," Andromeda said carefully, "I don't even want the choices you are making to be my life. But if I did want it…I would want to do it _exactly_ the way you did. You have everything figured out. I have a home here at Hogwarts until I graduate, and then I have no idea what to do."

Narcissa sighed and shook her head, "Andy, if you only knew how much I don't have figured out. I wish I could show you how much heartache I felt last year. This is the first year I have been able to breathe since I started here at Hogwarts, and even then, there's no guarantee of anything. Lucius blatantly disregards etiquette and rules, and he's reckless. Sometimes, I even think he could be dangerous. He's not a perfect man, and I think if you knew what I had to do just to get him to notice me, you would be ashamed of me. Half the time you already are."

"What did you do?" Andromeda asked breathlessly.

"I sat perfectly still on our staircase for hours posing for him because Mum demanded it," Narcissa said, snorting with laughter, "The article that Mara helped write to ruin my reputation? Unfortunately, it isn't that off mark. I gave Mum drawings I did to impress Ophelia Malfoy, I wrote letters to Mum, asking her what to say and do when I was around him—I even broke into his room and read his journals and letters to other suitors to know how to be the best option for him. I stood out in the freezing cold with this extremely risqué dress that Mum purchased for his Masquerade ball. I mean, I ditched chaperoned parties to be alone with a man I hardly knew all the time. I risked my purity and my reputation every time I went around him. I didn't even entertain the thought of another marriage; I put everything I had into him. It was such a stupid thing to do."

Andromeda said nothing, so Narcissa continued: "Most of what I did to impress Lucius was too raw and honest and I was floundering and guessing as I went along—And in the beginning, I was doing what Mum wanted, yes, I was her puppet. Then I just…fell for him. I would have done anything to make sure he was mine because I love him, and it's this overpowering feeling I get in my entire body when I'm around him, like I'm acutely aware of how alive I am. He has some direct pulse he taps into my body and my brain."

"So, that is what love looks like," Andromeda said at last, her eyebrows knitted together.

"I think so," Narcissa said, inhaling sharply, "Now that you know I'm super problematic, and maybe completely mad, and I'm just as uncertain as you…can we call a truce? No more ridiculous sibling rivalry, okay?"

Slowly, her sister nodded her head. "Deal, little sister. Do you forgive me?"

"I never thought less of you," she replied, "but if you have ever wronged me, I forgive you."

Spirits considerably brightened, Andromeda left her to go to her dorm room and study. Narcissa collected her pajamas and walked into the dormitory showers to wash her hair. She pulled her uniform off of her body and dropped it into the laundry basket, where it disappeared immediately from the bin. She stretched her arms above her head leisurely and turned on the faucet in one of the showers, then closed the glass door to let it steam. She turned around to the floor length mirror in front of the sinks and started suddenly, gaping in shock as she watched a trail of blood run down from in between her thighs to her calf, and then to her ankle and the floor.


	22. 22

"You loved the best way,

with a touch of madness and

reckless abandon."

Ariana

Curls of steam rose from the bone china cup in front of her as she slowly poured light ocher honey into a cup of earl grey. The tiny spoon clinked as she stirred, and then with a practiced hand, she poured the saucer of milk into her tea until it was pale and swirling. She watched the steam rise into the early morning light and bend against the soft, watery sunshine seeping in through the curtain.

"Bellatrix wrote to your father," Druella announced quietly in the small dining room, breaking the silence between them, "She fell down a set of stairs, I guess, and broke her wrist."

Narcissa didn't respond immediately. Her imagination wandered to the illicit darkness surrounding Bellatrix and she knew a broken bone on her eldest sister was undoubtedly no accident. Particularly, she knew, since her sister was anything but clumsy.

"Why did she speak with him and not you?" she finally said.

It was not as though any of them were close to the man that spent most of his life brooding in his study. It seemed very strange that her sister would connect with him about an injury, when their mother was the caretaker. Narcissa mused slightly—she always knew her mother had a certain knack for healing spells, but now knowing her history, she understood why.

Druella sighed softly and tilted her tea cup, washing the amber liquid around the edges dangerously, threatening it to spill. "Because she thought I would be busy preparing for the Masquerade Ball. Indeed, it was no easy feat trying to find your dress, but considering I am accustomed to finding it for _three_ …"

Her mother's voice shook for a tiny, imperceptible moment and then she smoothed it her tight expression over. She righted the cup properly and stared at the warm tea. "Anyway, your dress is done and that's what matters. Ophelia thought it would be best if we showcased your engagement by greeting guests together, so we will be leaving early before the guests arrive."

"I see," Narcissa said, heart sinking.

While she was excited to see Lucius, she wanted to spend the day in the woods with Max. It would be much too cold and snowy by the time she came home for Christmas. The only other time she would have for exploration would be at least one year after returning home from her honeymoon.

"Before we go tonight, I wanted to ask you," Her mother remarked softly, and Narcissa noticed her fingers were trembling softly, "It is important to maintain appearances, particularly in these last few months before you are married…"

Narcissa lifted her head to gaze at her mother's dark eyes, which were averted to the white table cloth. Her Romanesque cheekbones were high, the bridge of her nose a long slope to meet her blush of thin lips. It occurred to her that her mother was quite beautiful.

"That is not a question, Mother," she replied, raising her eyebrows.

"I was leading up to it, if you'd let me," she said, huffing, "What I meant to say—I what I mean to tell ask—" Her mother sighed and placed her spoon neatly next to her saucer of tea, "Have you bled yet, Cissy?"

"Oh," she responded, quite surprised the breakfast conversation turned so quickly to this. "Yes."

Druella nodded, looking pale. "Then it would be unwise for you to spend a great deal of time alone with Lucius, especially with so many months before the wedding. A pregnancy would be a scandal. _And_ a loophole for Lucius to withdrawal from the marriage, should he so choose."

She was both shocked and somewhat appalled by the idea of her mother discussing not only the idea of her falling pregnant with Lucius's bastard, but the idea of him using it to catapult himself out of their engagement.

"Well then," her mother inhaled and then coughed, her cheeks a faint pink, "That's settled then."

"Yes, I believe it has been settled," Narcissa said, bristling.

Druella ignored her. "When you have finished, go up to my room. Your dressing gown is hanging up on the door outside of my closet. Try it on to make sure it fits properly. If we need to take it in, I want to know well before we need to leave."

She took that exact moment to rise from the table, determining that she was no longer hungry. Nor did she have the appetite to listen to her mother's advice. She was disturbed that her mother would even fathom a scenario where Lucius deserted her and his unborn child to live perhaps only a few months of freedom before his parents found another bride for him.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor and padded quickly down the corridor. The door to her parents' bedroom was open, and when she walked in, Max was lolling on the top of the bed chewing methodically on a braided rope. Narcissa was focused on mulling over her feelings, the pinprick of anger that had nestled into her brain nagged her.

 _Could_ he do something so heartless?

Did her mother know that from experience? She stood in the middle of the room. The bedroom, decorated in red and gold accents, hadn't changed since she was a young child. Red was the color of power, but she knew her mother preferred green. In fact, there was hardly any real traces of her mother in this room aside from her wide vanity mirror, where an ornate hairbrush sat on the tabletop. All of the other contents were neatly organized in the drawers.

Narcissa went to the vanity and opened the drawers carefully. She considered that she might have had old photographs, perhaps letters stashed away that might explain the youth Narcissa was attempting to capture in full. She saw the delicate glass perfume bottles and lotions, her powders and lipsticks, but nothing to suggest that Druella Black was anything other than a blank slate, a woman born the moment she married her husband.

She walked to the closet. The dressing gown was bleeding down the side of the door in an exquisitely spun white Point d'esprit lace. The dress had wide, sweeping trim along the back sleeves and a mermaid silhouette; a great tuft of fabric erupted in a sweep at what she estimated was mid-calf. While the cut of the dress was far more modest than the cleaving neckline she had for last year's Masquerade, the dress was thin enough and spidered with such thinly woven threads that Narcissa was quite sure it would give her the illusion of nudity.

A candelabra above her lit in soft light as she stepped into the closet. Her mother's closet was nearly the size of Narcissa's entire bedroom; the master suite in the Black Manor was reported to be one of the largest in their community; when the manor was first built, the lady of the home had an expensive hobby of collecting French clothing.

Her mother's clothes took up a quarter of the room, and she displayed them with wooden hangers. Her shoes were neatly arranged on open display shelves. There were drawers from floor to ceiling, probably containing undergarments and pieces out of season. Her eyes were drawn to her jewelry cabinet, which was a thin, seven drawer chest that unfolded in three panels, full of more rows drawers when opened completely. The left side panel was left ajar. Having never known her mother to leave anything amiss, she swept over to the cabinet.

She listened for footsteps or disturbances to the room, and then she made herself busy unraveling the jewelry cabinet, pulling the complex panels open and then each individual drawer. The heart of the cabinet had the largest drawers, and it made sense to hide stacks of letters or mementos in one of the seven. She opened the first and second drawers, but her mother was meticulously organized—one drawer full of pearl earrings, another gemstone earrings (rubies, emeralds, sapphires—the colors she thought represented her daughters) and her another full of diamonds earrings. The next were necklaces and bracelets; Druella organized them by the type of jewelry they were as well.

"Merlin," Narcissa muttered, "If anyone could get away with murder…"

She opened the sixth drawer roughly and the velvet divider holding diamond necklaces dislodged. She realized there was a false bottom, and she pulled the top off carefully. A single pink coin purse was beneath it inconspicuously, and it was then that Narcissa knew she had found something. Her mother wouldn't have organized her entire life only to leave something out of place.

Max barked and shuffled off of the bed. Narcissa took the coin purse and stuffed it into her robes. She shut the entire panel of the jewelry cabinet, leaving the left side partially open as she had found it. She crossed the threshold and pressed her hands to her Masquerade gown just as her mother rounded the corner and stopped, looking surprised.

"Well, you aren't even _wearing_ it yet?" she exclaimed.

"You asked me to try it on and I did," Narcissa replied, "You didn't say that I had to stay in it. I just put it back."

"I see," Druella replied, her lips pursed.

Her eyes traveled over her head to the jewelry cabinet for the briefest of moments, and Narcissa's heart thumped like mad. If her mother knew she went through it, she didn't give it away.

"Run your bath, I'll come for you when it's time to start on your hair," she snapped, and turned on her heel.

Narcissa left the closet. Her mother was standing at the foot of her bed, palm extended, lightly stroking the top of Max's head. The briefest of smiles illuminated her otherwise firm features. She sped down the hallway to her bedroom, her heart hammering in her chest. She had never stolen anything from anyone, let alone her own mother.

She shrugged out of her robes and unpinned her hair. She slipped into a silk robe and pulled her window open. She felt with her hand until she found the tiny alcove of the roof that met the window sill. Bellatrix taught her and Andromeda years before that each of their windows met the roof with a small space to perfectly hide things out of view. She tucked the purse into the tiny space. Narcissa knew she wouldn't have any time to uncover any of the contents now, with her mother breathing down her neck to be on time. She shut the window and slid off of the sill and went to the bathroom to run her bath.

When she arrived, the bath was already started, cheerfully pumping soft lavender soap and bubbling with the rushing water from the tap. Narcissa sighed; she quite preferred the river to a bathtub, the rushing water curling over her toes. She loved too the way her hair spread all across her head in every direction, and the gentle way the current rocked her body. For all the luxuries of the porcelain claw foot tub, Narcissa could have done without it.

Warm oils were already floating iridescently along the top of the water. It was Narcissa's suspicion that this was some sort of beautifying potion her mother made, for she always looked a great deal more magnificent afterward, all angles and jaw lines, her eyes brightly speckled blue in a way that was abnormal. She looked at her own reflection every day, after all.

She slipped out of the robe and into the bath, sinking into the bubbles and the powerfully warm water. Actual sprigs of lavender were washing over her. She watched as a vase materialized at the edge of the bath and blue hyacinth blossoms grew from the magicked stems. Tears pricked at her eyelids: this too was what love looked like, Narcissa thought, knowing her mother could not say in words the language she could speak in flowers.

After her bath, she noted her perfected appearance in the mirror as she wrapped the towel around her. She rolled her eyes and left the room. Her parents' bedroom door was closed now, but even from the second floor, she could hear her father bellowing into the fireplace from his study. She heard the familiar terms and phrases: _Bloody Birth Rights, Familial Contracts, like fucking hell you'll take this property from me, not while I am alive,_ and so on. When she shut her bedroom door, the sound drowned out completely.

She busied herself at her vanity mirror, brushing out her long blonde hair. She knew her mother would want to dry and style it, so once it was smooth, she applied her makeup and perfume. At seemingly the perfect time, there was a soft knock on the door and then her mother swept in.

Druella was already dressed; her hair was pinned up in a chignon style. Her lips were painted dark red, and her heavily lidded eyes were adorned with black smoke and shadow, giving her the severe appearance of a queen or duchess.

"Good, you've already started," she said, "We're running behind. Your father is remaining here and will come later by carriage, but we'll be Apparating."

In record time, her mother waved her wand and dried her hair. She curled overlarge, sweeping curls through her hair in waves, elongating her neck and narrowing her face. When she was finished, Narcissa was transformed into someone else entirely. Her mother transfigured a lace veil across her eyes.

"That will do," she said, stowing her wand in a hidden fold of her robes, one Narcissa knew hid a pocket, "Come, let's go downstairs."

She took Narcissa by the arm and helped her down the stairs (there was not quite enough room to navigate the fabric and the staircase). As they stepped out of the door, her mother Apparated with a pop.

They reappeared in front of the gates of the Malfoy manor, and Druella tapped her wand against the wrought iron. After a few moments, the gates opened, and they started up the long circular driveway. As they walked up the slope to the mansion, Abraxas bounded from the door to them in long strides. He broke out into a trot across the driveway.

"Ruddy hell, Drue, I was going to have a carriage come collect you," he panted, clutching a stitch in his side. He was fully outfitted in his dress robes, his forehead shiny in the thin sun, "Cissy, lovely to see you darling. You _do_ look breathtaking. I'm not just saying that because I had to sprint over here."

"It hardly seemed necessary," her mother replied primly, "but you could have sent Lucius. He's younger, he could have made the run."

If Narcissa didn't know any better, she thought her mother might have been teasing Mr. Malfoy. Abraxas certainly responded well, a roaring laugh that echoed across the empty gardens.

"He's already inheriting everything I own," he exclaimed, "Let me have the last vestiges of my youth."

"Considering your son is an adult," Mrs. Black muttered, "I should say your youth has long since passed."

He shot her a withering look but seemed too out of breath to continue their banter. It might have been for the best; Narcissa didn't know anyone who had ever won an argument against her mother. Ophelia opened the door with an equally excited expression on her face, and she clasped her hands together as they approached, cooing immediately over Narcissa's gown.

"Is this one of the samples that new French designer sent you?" she asked, taking Narcissa by the arm and gesturing wildly for her to turn so that she could see the dress in its entirety.

Druella nodded. "Yes, she sent a blue one for us to use at Christmas as well. She's already begun the framework of the wedding dress."

"My cousin wasn't joking when she told me she was all the rage these days," Mrs. Malfoy responded. She clapped excitedly. "Wonderful, just _stunning_! This gives me a great deal of ideas, Druella, for the reception and honeymoon gowns as well…surely you could spare a moment…?"

"Go on," Abraxas encouraged, with a nod, "The guests won't arrive for another hour."

Ophelia gripped her mother and they swept through the door to Ophelia's lounge for additional wedding day strategizing.

"Lucius is, ah, somewhere," Mr. Malfoy said, sounding apologetic, "You'll collect him before everyone gets here, won't you, Cissy? You've a knack for getting him to come around at these events. He always misses the greeting…"

"Where was he last seen?" Narcissa asked playfully, "I might be able to trace his steps."

"The balcony in his bedroom, agonizing over the moon," Mr. Malfoy said, "Or whatever it is he was doing. Boy's quite lost without you to guide him through it, you know."

Narcissa knew. She nodded and swept up the stairs. She considered, very briefly, about how her mother cautioned her against being alone with Lucius now, how it could be dangerous to unexpectedly carry his child before they were married. He could desert her, break the contract by claiming she was unchaste, that she slept with someone else. Who would ever believe her word over that of Lucius Malfoy's?

And still yet, her heart pulled her to him in spite of the danger and the recklessness, just as it always had, and always would.

She knocked softly on his bedroom door and then opened it. The balcony door was open, but she didn't see him outside. She wandered across the room, taking in the small changes. He seemed less organized; more books were piled onto the floor in front of their shelves instead of neatly stacked. Some of her drawings were in grey frames along one of his windows. She picked up the drawing of his family tree, and pursed her lips, surprised he would have chosen this one to frame when he seemed to be quite afraid of the burden it pressed onto him. She replaced the frame and walked the perimeter of the room, taking in the seedings budding in pots on the tables. He had new dark green pothos ivy trailing off the window nearest the balcony. Narcissa was so immersed in his room that she hadn't heard the door open and close with a small snap. She opened his end table drawer and closed it again, then walked to the other and did the same.

"Find anything of interest?" Lucius called.

She started and knocked a book off the end table. He laughed lightly and approached her. Before she could lean down and pick up the book, he swept it into his hands. She saw that it was about runes.

"I'm afraid to say, you're entirely boring," she announced.

"Am I?" he murmured.

His hands were on her hips and she was lost in his kiss within seconds. His breath hitched in his throat and he pushed her onto the bed. Lithely, he sprang over her and pressed his frame against hers, and his lips were on her neck. He twisted his fingers through hers and pressed her hand into the mattress, pinning her in place, as if she would ever fathom leaving.

"Eight months until you are mine for every hour and every minute that passes on forever," he whispered softly, biting her neck, "I'll never let you out of our bed. Your body will never know the feeling of clothes again. I'll disappear into the ocean of your hips."

His hands were unzipping her gown and she bit her lip and sighed, encouraging it as she peeled the tight lace from her torso. He slipped the gown off onto the floor.

"Lucius, do we even have a moment to spare?" Narcissa asked him nervously, "Our parents—the Masquerade. They could come find us soon."

He pulled his wand from his robes and pointed it at the door. She heard it lock several times, the mechanism tangling in complexity. He did the same with the balcony. He abandoned the wand to cup her neck with one hand and attach his lips to her skin.

He kissed down her rib cage and her hips. She shuddered as he pushed her legs open with his hands and bit her thigh, leaving trails of kisses down to her ankle.

" _Lucius_ ," she said, this time more severely, "Stop."

He sat back on his knees and looked at the floor. "Have you not missed me?" he asked her quietly.

"Of course, I have," she replied, as kindly as she could muster, but her cheeks were burning, "but as you said, there are _eight months_ between now and our wedding."

"So?" he asked, tilting his head. He added cheekily, "It's not as if we bothered to wait. I would have had you while we were both still at Hogwarts, if I thought you would have gone for it."

She sighed as she sat up from the bed. "I do not want to be swollen and pregnant on our wedding day, Lucius Malfoy."

"Well, that is less than ideal," he remarked, smirking, "but not a deal breaker."

Narcissa rolled her eyes and stood up. She slipped back into her dress. She gestured to his wand and the door, and he watched her dress with the same ardent fascination he always had, but he unlocked it distractedly as she wished.

"Tonight is still a long night," Lucius reminded her, a glint in his eyes, "You may not be capable of resisting me, Mrs. Malfoy."

His voice purred her future title, rolling off the tongue so easily she thought he might have been practicing using it. Indeed, it sent a thrill through her. She reached for him and cupped him by the jaw and chin, holding him threateningly.

"Behave yourself," she scolded him playfully.

"Why should I start that now?" Lucius asked, standing up.

He took her chin in his hand in a much gentler way than she had gripped his and kissed her so softly she pulled him in reflexively, wanting more of him. When she realized what he was doing, she pushed him away, and he laughed.

"Allow me to protect your chastity, Miss Black," he said, sweeping his bedroom door open for her, "Out of the lion's den and into the safety of the public."

Narcissa crossed her arms stubbornly as they walked down the corridor. "You jest now, but if it happened you would be most undone."

They bickered until they reached the end of the corridor to stairs, when suddenly louder voices overtook theirs and they hushed one another and leaned against the wall to listen. It was Druella and Abraxas on the staircase. Narcissa peered over the wall. Her mother was on several steps above Mr. Malfoy, looking indignant and angry with him. He was leaning cooling against the railing.

"Let them be, Druella, they will scarcely see each other the rest of the year," he said.

"I told you before, she can bear children now," she hissed, "The only thing a girl has to bargain with is her purity, Abraxas, a concept I am sure is lost on you considering you went through every girl in your year and then some before you finally married. And I'm sure you still married a virgin, no less."

He laughed again and Narcissa was reminded immediately of Lucius in his casual but confrontational demeaner. The smug expression was identical; the two of them relished the opportunity to be irritating.

"So what if she gets a little knocked up before the nuptials!" he asked, his voice raised comically loud, "There's plenty of fabric in the world to cover it up."

Druella narrowed her eyes to slits and glared. She reached out and struck Abraxas on the shoulder, and the slap echoed up the stairs to Narcissa and Lucius. "I won't have my daughter miserably pregnant in the heat of the summer because you don't have any control over your own son."

"My son? You think he spent nearly the whole of last summer at your house in the middle of the night uninvited?" he asked.

She took another step up the staircase, drawing herself up to her full size. "What precisely are you implying, Malfoy?"

He flashed her a smile. "Ah, you don't know. Of course not. Checked his room every night, Lucius was out at one in the morning. Now, you and I both know he only sees Narcissa. So logically, he's in your girl's bed."

Her resolve was broken. Narcissa was blushing so bright she thought her cheeks might bruise crimson permanently. Lucius was shaking with laughter, his hand stretched taught over his mouth to keep himself quiet. She elbowed him in the side. The Malfoys were ridiculous.

"I don't know what to say," she said quietly, "Other than the fact that _you knew he was in my house_ and didn't tell me? You _idiot_!"

She slapped him in the shoulder again. It hardly seemed to mollify her, so she struck him again.

"No one waits until their wedding day, Drue," Abraxas told her, "Your great-grandmother was skimming down to her knickers with her betrothed, I'll bet a thousand galleons."

He took her by the elbow and coaxed her down the steps to his level.

"I did!" Druella replied.

"Yes," Abraxas said evenly, "but your husband's a tosser."

They waited until their footsteps on the stairs were gone.

"That was the most humiliating thing I have ever overheard," Narcissa exclaimed, placing her hands in her palms.

"I guess I'll have to start leaving at two," Lucius remarked quietly.

Narcissa dropped her hands from her face and stared at him. It occurred to her that Abraxas, in his age, was just as impossible as Lucius was now. She didn't know if she could withstand a lifetime of it.

They rejoined their parents within a few moments, who were waiting in the foyer. Lucius tangled his fingers through hers as they walked down the stairs and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"I forgot to tell you how beautiful you look," he said.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "You didn't have to _say_ anything."

"Just the same," he said, energetically bounding down the stairs, holding her hand over his shoulder as she took longer to navigate the steps in heels and a long dress.

Her mother was scanning her dress and hair for imperfections but couldn't find any. Unfortunately, Narcissa thought with mild amusement, her mother's own spell work betrayed her from gleaming anything from her daughter's absence. She looked instead to Lucius, but he too was primly groomed.

"You're late," Abraxas told his son.

"I'm here, so I'm early," he replied cheerfully.

They main doors opened just as the first carriage swept up to the door. Narcissa stood at Lucius's side as each family walked through the foyer and they curtseyed and bowed to each one. She realized her own family was never greeted, because of their traditional lateness. It felt quite strange to be on the other side of the Masquerade. The aura and the magic of it was diminished, the excitement of dancing with strangers vanished. She thought of the night she and Lucius climbed the tree in the garden to watch the other dancers; he had never been a spectator, pulled in to the brilliant illusion his family created. Once, she drew him into her life and showed her how she saw the world. Tonight, she was a Malfoy.

Indeed, the atmosphere was still enchanting from her angle, but there was something less thrilling, being one without a mask at the host's table next to Lucius. Lucius and his father sat in the center of the table, with Narcissa at Lucius's left. Abraxas was positioned to his son's right, and Mrs. Malfoy was to the right of him. Druella sat next to Ophelia.

This year, the room was cloaked in darkness and fog, and lanterns lit up like pumpkins hovered above the guests as they piled in. Narcissa knew they were nearing the time when her family's carriage would arrive, but since Bellatrix and Andromeda wouldn't arrive, she didn't expect to see a very eventful entrance. Her father might have already slipped in the shadows and hid amongst the other masked guests.

After everyone mingled for thirty minutes or so and had a few drinks, Abraxas motioned to Lucius.

"Open up the Masquerade then, Lucius, you'll have to do it yourself soon enough," he said.

Lucius wore a perfect, blank expression as he pushed his chair back, but Narcissa knew he did not want to be here. He walked around her chair and held his hand out for her, and she placed her hand in his swiftly and slipped out of her seat. Lucius guided her off of the platform and she watched the guests part, slipping to the perimeters of the room to watch the first dance.

The chord of a violin struck, and Lucius pulled her into formation for the first dance. She smiled up at him, a nervous fluttering hammering in her chest. It was just the two of them dancing in front of everyone in their society. She had never opened a dance before; would it be an utter disaster? What if she somehow tripped? Her thoughts clouded and melted away as the music quickened and Lucius guided her gracefully across the floor in a tangle of steps, and she knew that she was safe with him.

A soft swell of music came, and he spun her closer to his chest, and his lips were against her ear as he said: "I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered back quickly, blushing brightly pink.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy joined them on the dance floor, and once they joined, the others found random couplings. The dance floor was soon crowded and ecstatic with the festivities. After the song ended, she and Lucius parted and she looked at the host's table, but her mother was not there. She must have found Cygnus at last.

It was an almost perfect evening. Enchanting as it was, Narcissa wanted nothing more than to slip outside with Lucius, but both of his parents pulled them back up to the platform to watch the unveiling after a few dances. Her mother had returned to the table, a fixed smile across her face.

"Well, I think that dress style doesn't give her enough mobility on the dance floor," Ophelia chatted, "So the skirt may have to be wider, don't you think, Druella? It's a shame to keep the two of them from dancing. You can tell it restricted the fluidity of her movements out there."

"Agreed," her mother responded, chewing thoughtfully on her lap, "I like simpler aesthetics, but I think I can compromise on something more extravagant, if you would like."

Ophelia beamed. "I adore the lacework, and I think at least a nine foot train would be preferable for the ceremony when she walks down the aisle—perhaps removeable, so she can still dance…"

Narcissa shielded her face from the dance floor with the flat of her hand and stared at Lucius with horror.

"I'm wearing black," he replied, running his thumb along her arm gently, "I'm going to look exactly as I do at any event, actually."

"So handsome it is disorienting, then," she replied, wrinkling her nose, "I'll resemble the albino peacocks your mother ordered to strut around the yard."

Lucius sputtered and shook with laughter. Abraxas, having caught the end of Narcissa's statement, deftly grinned.

"My mum desperately desired a daughter to decorate and fuss over. My entire life. As much as I know she cares about me, she has always wanted to plan a wedding," Lucius said.

It struck her then, how kind it was of her own mother to include her. It was not as if she was required to, and Narcissa could not recall her allowing the Lestranges to interact very much with Bellatrix's wedding.

"Well, mine had three daughters," Narcissa said, "I am quite certain she would have traded at least one of us for a son to make it easier. She's planned two weddings in a year, so I think she'll take a very necessary holiday after this is all over. She might go to the sea and never return."

"Can we join her?" Lucius retorted, "I want to escape this lot myself."

Narcissa laughed and smiled. She glanced away from him to the crowd, and froze as her eyes met the darkened, venomous eyes of Mara Zabini, her arm in the crook of her husband's elbow, a flute of wine held aloft in the other. It seemed centuries had passed since she thought of her, since they had been best friends.

"I would very much like to escape too," Narcissa said, firmly turning her cheek back to Lucius.

Abraxas left the table abruptly without speaking to any of them, slipping out of the front doors into the foyer. Ophelia and Druella were deep in conversation about the wedding, and Lucius and Narcissa were animatedly discussing about Herbology when he returned again, looking relieved by something.

The final display of the Masquerade was completed by Abraxas, who lifted his wand and shot ghostly, thin skeletal figures onto the center of the floor. They reenacted the story from Beedle the Bard about the Deathly Hallows, and Narcissa watched with rapt fascination as the wisps reconfigured and structured the scenes and voices. It was the perfect story for such a spooky atmosphere, and the entire room erupted in applause when the wisps finished.

After Abraxas gave a twenty minute speech about gratitude and fate, the guests, quite full and drunk, made their way to the carriages. Each family left in the order they arrived, their carriages gleaming and slick with rain in front of the massive entrance hall. Narcissa shook everyone's hands and thanked them for coming with her mother and the Malfoy family, and she tried not to giggle as some of them tottered and swayed across the lawn, limbs heavy with alcohol.

At last, the Black carriage swept up the driveway to the front door. The door opened and Narcissa turned to say goodbye to Lucius and his family, when Ophelia let out a curdling shriek that ricocheted over the lawn. Druella's breath caught in her chest and she stared at the carriage. For when the doors opened, Cygnus Black's limp body slowly slid down the small steps as they descended to the cobblestone pavement until his head touched the edge of the lawn, his face a frozen expression of shock and horror.

Narcissa's eyes flickered to Abraxas by accident, and she marveled at the triumphant gleam in his eyes, the smug, unabashed smile that crossed his features.


	23. 23

"perhaps you were made

for this moment to walk

through blazing fire and

come forth as gold."

Morgan Harper Nichols

Narcissa sat in her chair in front of her vanity mirror. She meant to wipe her makeup off and ready herself for bed, but she remained in such a state that moments slipped by and she had not moved. Her hands hovered over her hairbrush, but her hair was still magicked with curls. She blinked rapidly; her insides felt frozen and heavy. Something was caught in her throat, but words wouldn't come out of her. She felt as though she had been laid in snow for a long time and then forced into sunlight to thaw out.

Behind her, she heard Max's paws trot against the floor, and then she jumped onto her bed. Narcissa watched her from the mirror as she turned repeatedly in place until she felt comfortable, and then she curled up on the bed and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she let out a comforting groan and rolled onto her side, and lightly snored.

The window next to her slid open and Lucius dropped cat like to the floor. He straightened and then his eyes swept across the room for signs of distress or danger.

"Narcissa," he greeted quietly.

"I'm supposed to get ready for bed. Mother told me to," she replied, "I just…I…"

He nodded and walked behind her chair. He used his wand to undo the spell and took the brush from her table and brushed her hair out carefully. She slumped her shoulders while he worked and stared at her hands in her lap. Her father died tonight, though when she was not certain. He was not an easy man to know or love, but he was a constant in her life, and he had never been unkind to her. Knowing that he was mortal, in a twisted way, made her fear that her mother would die next. She wasn't certain what she would do if she lost her.

Lucius gently braided her hair and tied it off, so it would not be impossibly tangled when she woke the morning, and then he gently wiped the makeup from her face.

"He died all alone, and not one of us even noticed he was never in the room," she said, guilt stinging to her core. "Was he even alive when the carriage arrived?"

"I'm not certain," he said.

Narcissa stood up from the seat and walked to her wardrobe. She unzipped the back of her gown and slipped out of it, and then found her pajamas and pulled them over her head. When she came back into her room, Lucius was sitting on top of her bed with Maxie curled against his hip, her head resting on his thigh.

"The worst part," she said, "is that I'm not sure I even feel anything regarding his death. It was shocking, sure, and _disturbing_ to see, but my first thought was not to mourn him."

"He was not much of a father, Cissy," Lucius spoke quietly, his fingers lightly drifting across Max's fur.

She bit her lip and nodded. It was true.

"But the one thing I can't get out of my head is how…elated your father looked," she whispered. "Tell me you saw it too?"

Lucius nodded. "Yes, I saw. From what little history we can piece together, we know that our fathers were not overly fond of each other."

"He looked like he had just vanquished his oldest enemy in a duel," she said in a rush.

"Indeed," Lucius said, "Your father had many enemies. Your Aunt and Uncle did not attend this evening, did you know? They were scheduled and never arrived. Neither did Mr. and Mrs. Zabini, but their children did."

"You believe he was murdered, then?" she asked, her lips tugging into a firm, grim line.

Lucius nodded. "The killing curse. We learned about them in Defense Against the Dark Arts in my seventh year, and the book had all sorts of grotesque images of how the spell manifests. It looked similar."

"It could have been anyone," Narcissa said, shrugging, "My mother disappeared for a bit just after our carriage should have arrived; it could have been her."

Lucius raised his eyebrows at the thought. "My father also left the table, if you'll recall."

Narcissa didn't know how someone could murder and then return to a party as if nothing had happened, but she knew at least that her own mother was controlled to a fault, methodically genius in her ability to organize and choreograph people into roles. In fact, Lucius was sitting on her bed, deeply in love with her, partially as a result of her mother's doing. On second thought, knowing her society was riddled with secrets and plots, it might have been exactly on par.

"When it's announced that your father was murdered," Lucius said, slowly, carefully choosing his words, "Journalists are going to make the worst of it, as you know from our engagement announcement. I would assume…they will dredge up history we don't know, facts that might be misconceptions or complete truths. The relationship between my father and your mother might be dramatized. People have speculated about them before— _we_ speculate about them all of the time. It may…behoove us to discover as much as we can before anyone else does. So that no one else can tarnish our perceptions of things that happened long ago."

She blinked, suddenly realizing she had stowed away the very thing that might unlock the mystery of her mother and his father. She walked to the window silently and unlatched it, sliding the door open carefully and then climbing onto the sill.

"Cissa—" Lucius began, shifting his weight to spring off the bed if she started to fall.

She clutched the small coin purse into her hand and slipped back inside and then shut the window.

"Nicked this from my mother's jewelry cabinet this morning," she said, "I'm sure she has more than this hidden somewhere, but she either never lets me go into her room alone or she skulks around close by, and I have little time to discover much else."

She shook the coin purse, and as she suspected, it was charmed to hold more than it otherwise could without magic. She crawled onto her bed and sat across from Max and Lucius and opened the clasp. She dumped the contents onto the bed: bundles of letters tied together with ribbon came out, and several small boxes. There were over hundreds of letters, Narcissa noted grimly. It would take ages to read them all, if they even made sense, and of course she likely did not have the letters written by her mother.

Lucius began sorting the letters. "She ties together them by the recipient. These are all from Bellatrix…Andromeda…your father…you…some of the other women in the community. I don't see my father here; I know they write to one another. _My_ mother's letters are here."

He unraveled the ribbon from his mothers and opened the first letter to skim. "Congratulations on your first daughter, Bellatrix, may you have a lifetime of happiness…one for Andromeda…one for you…these are perfunctory letters for births in our society. Not particularly incriminating."

Narcissa nodded. "Of course, my mother wouldn't just hide her secrets in a coin purse. She'd hide them in something else that is hidden in the coin purse, and then hide the coin purse."

Lucius laughed. She picked up one of the boxes—this one was small, a velvet ring box. She opened it and inhaled. A massive, moonstone ring was nestled into an aging velvet holder. The band was covered in spidery gold ivy leaves, and when she plucked it from the box and turned it over, the band was engraved. _In every conceivable life._ She gasped and dropped the ring as though it had burned her.

The rock engravings in the garden. Abraxas's loud proclamation that he loved Ophelia Malfoy in every life he had ever lived and ever would. Had she not studied it intently so many times, she might have missed the reference. She held her hands in front of her, feeling as numb as she had earlier when she saw her father's body in the carriage. Lucius plucked up the ring and turned it over, and she heard him exhale deeply.

"Maybe she's holding onto it for your mum," Narcissa suggested meekly, "For safe keeping."

"Narcissa, don't pretend to be daft," he replied with an edge in his voice.

He pretended to be unbothered by what he saw, but she watched his hands shake as he placed the ring on the bed in between them. She picked up the box again, studying the flowery engraving across the top of the ring box. It was initialed with a shop in France she had never heard of, perhaps one which was no longer even in business. Lucius's brow furrowed as he read through his mother's letters to Druella Black, and he seemed angrier by their easy friendship, when clearly a wedge should have existed between them. There must have been. Narcissa was reeling from everything she had discovered and nonplussed at the same time.

"Perhaps we shouldn't delve into this," she suggested, "Maybe it is better if we don't know."

Lucius looked up from the letter he was reading and shook his head. "We deserve the truth more than the public, who will know sooner than later anyway."

Hours slipped between them as they poured over the letters in silence. Nothing, aside from the ring, suggested Druella had ever corresponded with Abraxas Malfoy.

"Is it quite possible she burned the letters after she received them?" Lucius asked at last, nearing four in the morning.

He stretched and sprawled across her bad, stretching his spine and hips. He exhaled loudly and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Max woke long enough to deeply sigh and stretch up against his torso.

"Why keep a ring, but nothing else in here?" Narcissa pondered, picking up the ring box again. "It doesn't make sense."

Lucius held out his hands for the box and she tossed it to him. He caught it in his hands and absently, he opened and closed it. He sat up, resting his elbow against the mattress, and pulled the velvet holder from the ring box. Neat, miniature pieces of parchment fluttered from underneath it to the bed in front of them, arranged just as neatly as the coin purse itself was.

Narcissa leaned over in shock at the tiny letters. Lucius tapped his wand against the flutters of parchment and transfigured them back to their original size. Some of the letters were fairly new, but others were fragile and aged with time. Her breath caught in her throat. This could hold the answers to everything they were searching for.

Lucius chose the first letter, faded and crumbling as he turned the parchment over in his hands. She watched his grey eyes scan the ink quickly. His fingers lightly drifted down the edge of the parchment as he read the letter and moved quickly to the end. When he finished, he rubbed his eyes, which were red from exhaustion.

"So?" she asked, holding her hand out for the letter.

"So, it was a polite invitation for tea," Lucius said, exasperated.

Narcissa swept the letters up in her hands and tucked them into the drawer in her end table. "It's been hours," she said quietly, "History will still be here for us in the light."

Light came through the parted curtains and woke Narcissa. She turned to her right side but was stopped by the body next to her. Lucius was curved against her with his arm slung over her hip. The blankets around them were skewed and drawn from all corners to them, and his head was buried into the pillow as he slept soundly. She quietly slipped out of his arm and off of the bed.

She noticed first that her bedroom door was open, and that Maxie was no longer inside. She pulled her silk robe over her pajamas and walked down the quiet corridor.

"Max?" she called quietly.

She neared the end of the hall and noticed that Andromeda's bedroom door was open. She peered inside but she couldn't see anyone in it. Her parents' bedroom (with a lurch, she realized it was now just her mother's) was open. She stepped through the threshold—robes were piled onto the bed. She heard movement from her father's closet. Max was standing in front of the doorway of the closet panting, her tail wagging quickly.

"Mother?" Narcissa asked, as she walked across the room to her father's closet.

Druella turned around. The tight bun at the top of her head was falling, wisps of hair was framed her face messily. A sheen of bright sweat appeared at her brow; a look of determination crossed her features. Several pairs of her father's robes were tucked over her arm

"Yes, what is it, Cissy?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

"What are you doing," Narcissa replied, raising her eyebrows, "At seven in the morning?"

Druella swept from the closet and placed the robes onto the pile. "Cleaning, of course. We won't be staying _here_ much longer with your father gone. Might as well get everything out while we can before your aunt and uncle knock on the door."

Narcissa went cold. "Where will we live?" she asked, panic in her voice.

"You shall be married, Cissy, and the Malfoy name will protect you," her mother answered simply.

Narcissa remembered the night with Lucius before Christmas, when they skulked around in the secret passageways and listened to Cygnus and Abraxas draw up the Black manor land.

"But father has already promised the land to us—his daughters," she said quickly, "In my dowry contract, he signed that I have a third of the property, and so does Bellatrix and Andy—"

Druella turned around sharply. "How do you know this?" she asked, "I never heard of any arrangement."

"Lucius," Narcissa replied, not wanting to divulge that she had spied on her father. Her mother would have launched into a long lecture on the behavior of proper ladies. It was most assuredly within one of the thousands of etiquette rules to not spy on others.

Druella pursed her lips. "Dowry contracts change, and often do, up until the wedding date. There's no guarantee your father kept his original contract. Wake Lucius up and have him dress. We'll meet for breakfast and see what else he knows."

She opened her mouth to respond and failed, repeatedly, so say anything. She anguished in the space in front of the closet door, gaping.

"Oh Merlin, I opened your door this morning, I knew he was there," Druella snapped, "Never mind that now, _wake_ him so that I may speak with him."

"Yes, Mum," Narcissa said quickly, shocked she had skirted out of the way of her mother's wrath.

But when she reached her room, Lucius was dressed and sitting on the edge of her bed, scouring through the letters they discovered last night. Narcissa leaned against the doorframe and grimaced. He had not slept enough, she thought, and the letters must have been a focus of his thoughts. She couldn't exactly relate to what he must feel, that perhaps his parents' entire marriage was a lie, because Narcissa had grown up knowing her parents loathed one another. There was a delicate balance established, one where they each had their own jobs and the other did not tread into the territory of the other parent. Cygnus was all business and political affairs, typical for a man of his stature, and Druella ran the household and her children. To suggest that Cygnus take on a more nurturing role, as Abraxas Malfoy, would have driven her mother to rage. Their act kept them quite separate from one another and kept the peace, if nothing else could evolve between the two of them.

"You know that your parents love each other," Narcissa announced, "No matter what those letters reveal."

He glanced up at her and shrugged, then his eyes flicked back to the page. "I'm not so certain of that anymore. For instance: ' _I am so angry that I could eviscerate you. You were supposed to wait. I told you my parents were insistent that we interview Ophelia and her family, not that we were signing any agreements. I could have stopped this madness. I would have loved you as you were meant to be loved. There is a curse upon the Black family; their coldness and rigidity will seep into your womb and you will bear only madness and anger. Look at the acts your pompous, overindulgent sack of cod of a husband has committed—he used the_ Cruciatus Curse _on your brother for speaking out of turn, and you have_ married _that—you have defiled everything. You ruined everything. For your sake, I hope he strangles you in the night with one of the silk scarves you're so fond of wearing when the two of you promenade all over London. Do not ever contact me again. -A.'_ "

Narcissa winced through the letter as he read it, his voice bumping up along the angry parts. She could feel the anguish between the lines. She took the letter from his hand and placed it into the drawer.

"Let's go downstairs for breakfast, my mother wants to talk to you," she said quietly.

Lucius was quiet as she guided him down the stairs to the main foyer. She opened the dining room quietly and pulled him by the arm inside the door. Her mother was sitting at the head of the table where her father usually sat, though he rarely ate breakfast with them. Her eyes were withdrawn from them as she stirred her tea thoughtfully.

They sat on either ends of the table next to Druella and arranged their tea. Narcissa poured Lucius's into his cup and then her own, fearing his hands might shake so much he would spill the liquid from the teapot if he tried. He managed the sugar and milk with soft, light gestures, but she could see his fingers were trembling.

"Mrs. Black, you wished to speak with me?" he finally asked, clearing the silence.

She realized he might be nervous because they were caught in bed together. She inhaled slightly, wondering if her mother would indeed chastise him, the son of a man whom she had such an entangled history with.

"Narcissa said you are knowledgeable about your marriage contract and the dowry aspect, particularly the ownership of the Black estate," Druella said, finally turning her dark eyes upward from her tea.

Lucius seemed surprised by this statement, confirming her thoughts that he had been anxious about their predicament more so than anything else. She smiled lightly at the idea.

"Yes, my father keeps me current," Lucius remarked.

Or, Narcissa thought, Lucius kept himself current by peering through the pinhole into his study and rifling through his mail.

"Then can you enlighten me on the entitlements of property being drawn up?" her mother asked.

He took a small sip from his tea and then nodded. "Of course. Cygnus first agreed to severing the property into thirds to ensure the property went to his three daughters. Narcissa was entrusted with the forest property that rides against the Zabini property line, and Andromeda was given the opposite by the river. Bellatrix was entrusted with the manor."

Druella inhaled nervously. This, Narcissa realized, was clearly not the answer she had been hoping for. She did not understand this agreement, however; her father's goal had been to keep anyone that wasn't a Black from accessing the property. Whatever was bestowed upon the wife, was therefore the husband's property to do with as he pleased. Except, Narcissa thought, for the small bit of property that her mother apparently owned that she was contractually obligated to.

"However, several months later they renewed the terms. Cygnus signed the deed to my father. We just received the certified copy in the mail a few weeks ago; legally, this is a Malfoy property now."

"And do you know _why_ my late husband would forfeit the entire Black estate to your father?" she asked, narrowing her eyes shrewdly, "Why not Orion Black? He has sons. They could have carried the legacy. No doubt Cygnus's hatred of his family would color his opinion, but in the end, he should have succeeded the property to the next male Black in line, which is Orion."

Lucius hesitated for a long moment before he added, "There is something else. Originally, the contract stated that Cygnus would pay 50,000 galleons for Narcissa's dowry and award her a third of the Black property. This was a low price to my father, but he accepted it. Then, they changed the terms to the entire property and all accounts and deals Cygnus possessed would be transitioned to my father at the time of Cygnus Black's death."

Druella was lost in thought. Narcissa knew she was calculating each step in an attempt to conclude the reason for the strange deal. No one would give everything for a marriage. It certainly suggested that her father was, quite frankly, screwed out of his own family legacy. Without warning, her mother stood up from her chair. The chair flew out behind her and toppled over in anger. She rushed from the dining room to the next room over—when she slammed the door, Narcissa heard the walls rattle.

"That's my father's study," she said, "What do you think the odds are that she's going to talk to your father?"

Lucius reflexively slid from his chair and picked up two of the whiskey glasses from the stand behind him. He walked across the room and handed her a glass. They pressed it against the wall and listened intently.

They could hear her mother's footsteps as she reached the far end of the room. They heard drawers open and slam, and then she sighed and walked across the room. They heard the burst of the fireplace, and then only a few moments of quiet lapsed before they heard Abraxas from the Floo Network.

"Drue, good morning! You haven't seen Lucius, have you? He never showed up for breakfast," he said jovially.

"Don't you dare _Drue_ me, Abraxas Reginald Malfoy! I want to know just what the _hell_ you think you're doing!" she snapped.

"Sorry?" he asked, his voice carrying loudly across the room, "What have I done?"

"Lucius just informed me that my house, everything in it, and every account I might have, now belongs to _you_ ," she said.

Lucius winced, but remained leaning against the wall. Narcissa covered her mouth to stop laughing.

"Oh, so he is with you then? I'll let Ophelia know, she's worried sick. _OPHELIA, DARLING, YES, HE IS WITH DEAR CISSY—_ I told you last night he would be there. Hasn't slept over before, though, might need to nip that habit. It upsets her, you know…those mother instincts," Abraxas rambled, "Anyway, I'm glad he is safe. Do tell him to come home at some point, though, I won't water his plants—"

"ABRAXAS!" Druella shrieked, "Stop stalling or I will reach through this hearth and pluck out your eyes. _Why_ are you the sole owner of the entire Black estate as of _last night_? Did you murder my husband? Do you have any idea of how much this implicates you? The contracts are public records. You'll be in Azkaban before you can even blink."

"You and I both know I've fancied the idea of his death since I met him," Abraxas said, this time seriously, his voice drawn and quiet, "but I did not kill him last night. You know that, Drue. I offered Cygnus a way out, financially, and he took it."

They heard Druella sigh and shuffle. She stood up and paced in front of the fireplace. "What do you mean 'a way out'? Did we not have any money left, is that it? Did he spend it?"

"You were by no means as rich as you should have been. Cygnus gambled quite a bit," he answered, "But Cygnus grew tired of Orion's arguments and threats, and his insistence that the property belonged to him. So, he sold it to the one person no one would contest, the man with the mightiest flex in society—"

"Stop peacocking," Druella interrupted, "and tell the damn story."

"He sold it to me as a way to end the argument. Upon his death, I inherited the estate. But did Lucius mention the _clause_ in the contract? No, I doubt he did, since he was in Hogsmeade with Narcissa the day we added it to the contract, so the retch wasn't listening in the walls—The clause, dear Druella, only allows for Narcissa to make executive decisions to the property and the money. A bit of security, as you'll remember your own marriage contract has something similar, to keep me honest. It may be in the Malfoy name, but it belongs to Narcissa. Which will be rather moot soon, since she will be a Malfoy and I will transfer the deed to her name."

There was a long, strained pause. Narcissa stared at Lucius with honest shock. Lucius looked speculative.

"What clause is in my contract?" Druella asked flatly, "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Abraxas replied, his cheerfulness returned in full, "To summarize, Drue, you and your possessions are quite safe now, are they not? Narcissa would never make _you_ leave the manor. Of all your daughters, she's no doubt the most loyal."

Narcissa pulled the glass away from the wall, having heard quite enough. She understood the context then, that Abraxas accepted terms of an acrimonious Cygnus, who was at most a petty man intent upon arguing with his family even in the grave. His ambition was to shuffle the property away from the remaining Black legacy out of spite, and he had succeeded. It was an equally ambitious Abraxas, perhaps filled with remorse or guilt for the wrongdoings committed against her mother in the past, that drove him to accept the deal. He ensured her mother's safety through the rest of her life. An easy retirement in the home she raised her family, something he knew Narcissa would guarantee her.

It was a long, elaborate and highly complex legal mess that translated simply into one thing: an apology.

Narcissa sat back down and nursed her tea in silence. Lucius finished listening to the entirety of the conversation and then waved his wand to disperse the liquid from his cup, providing the appearance he consumed it. He walked to the window and pushed the curtains apart and looked out at the courtyard outside, where only last summer they hosted Bellatrix's wedding, which seemed like such a long time ago.

Her mother rejoined them after a few moments, perhaps taking some time to collect herself. She smoothed her robes when she walked back in.

"Narcissa, you know you're supposed to dress before you come down for breakfast," she snapped, as she arranged herself at the head of the table neatly, "Try not to let your guest think you're some insipid, tactless girl."

She smiled rather than argue with her this time. At least her mother had recovered enough to bark orders at her.

"You wouldn't mind if Narcissa gave me a tour through the forest today, would you, Mrs. Black?" Lucius asked innocently, as he turned away from the window, "To give you some space, of course, given what has happened."

Druella shot Narcissa a both threatening and meaningful look. "Yes, Lucius, I should think that would be fine. She is, of course, going back to school next week. I wrote to Dumbledore to explain the situation. Should you decide to come in at two in the morning, might I suggest you use the front door? It might be a tad easier and a bit more gentleman-like than the window, don't you think?"

Lucius's cheeks bruised with a soft pink, "Of course, Mrs. Black."

The leaves were fluttering softly in the cool breeze. The trees were honey yellow and red, and her shoes crunched beneath the leaves as they walked between the thick trunks. The air was crisp and lively, a rare warm autumn day in the waning season. Narcissa wore her tights and her hair in a neatly spun bun, and a light, soft wool spun robe that reached her mid-calf. It was navy blue and designed more like the Muggle clothing she fancied, the long warm cardigans she'd seen in their storefronts. Lucius slung his arm over her shoulders, looking lighter than he had since last night.

It was an almost perfect moment, except for the fact that her father was murdered last night and the historic Black estate which they were walking on was now Malfoy property. And her sister, Andromeda, had run away from the family and her eldest sister, Bellatrix, was unhinged and secretly married to two men.

Narcissa stopped. "Lucius," she said, ducking under a low hanging branch, "How many people would benefit from my father's death?"

He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully for a moment. She tucked her arm against his elbow.

"In short," he said softly, "It shifts the entire political atmosphere of our society. Your father—your name—has weight in the Ministry. Given his placement in Wizengamot and his influence over the Minister himself, his death could mean that someone else could take his place."

"Like your father?" she asked, quietly.

"My father has never been interested in politics," Lucius said, "At least, not as a government servant. He prefers to donate."

"I see," she replied, biting her lip.

They were silent as they walked up the hill to the cliff overlooking the manor. Lucius stopped her near the edge of the cliff and held her by her shoulders.

"I know that you want to know what happened to your father. And I have no doubt in my mind that it will be discovered, but I think this may be something beyond us," he said softly, "This might not be a mystery we can solve. We have barely scratched the surface of our parents' history and we don't even have anything solid to go on. Someone with more experience and tools at hand should investigate your father's murder."

Narcissa inhaled sharply as she saw from over Lucius's shoulder three black-robed wizards Apparate onto the edge of the driveway and walk up the drive to the manor.

"I think they have already started," she murmured.

They walked in from the clearing and up to the house quickly. Lucius opened the door first and slipped through—the door to her father's study was open and from their vantage point in the foyer, they could see the three wizards settled in chairs, neatly arranged around their mother's high backed leather seat nearest the fireplace. Narcissa shut the door silently behind her and slipped across the hallway. She motioned for Lucius to follow her into the dining room to listen to the conversation, when one of the wizards unceremoniously turned to stare at them.

"Narcissa, Lucius, come join us," Druella called, slowly crossing her leg. She raised her eyebrow pointedly and beckoned them with her finger.

Begrudgingly, they followed. They took a seat on the couch in the back of the room. The wizards swiveled in their chairs to face them.

"The Ministry sent Aurors to inform us of the formal investigation of your father's murder, Narcissa," she said matter of factly, "You've met Ignatius Zabini, Mara's father in law. And his companions, Lleu Moody, and Gawain Robards."

Robards was a stocky looking wizard with an unkempt red beard and tawny eyes. He glared over at them, staring deeply as though he could decipher their guilt from mere expressions. But it was Ignatius that spoke first:

"Curious, Mrs. Black, allowing your unwed daughter to be unchaperoned with her betrothed," he commented lightly and turned his attention back to her.

She picked up the saucer of tea from her end table and took a sip from it. "Master Zabini, as I am sure you know, the Malfoy family is one of our most trusted friends. There is no one I would entrust my daughter's safety and purity to more than Lucius."

"Was your husband as fond of the Malfoy family as you are?" he asked slyly.

Druella placed her tea back onto the end table. "No, I should think not. Cygnus trusted no one at all, he even had a house elf drink his morning tea if he had an inkling it was poisoned. He was a shrewd, paranoid man that spent much of his life in the public eye and with that came a great deal of enemies and death threats. We have an entire drawer full of them, sirs, if you would like to see them."

They nodded. She waved her wand lazily and a drawer shot open. Stacks of letters sailed across the room and onto the coffee table between them. Moody quickly scooped them up and pocketed them.

"We'll catalogue these for evidence," he announced.

She nodded slowly. "Yes, I imagine you would. As I said before, Cygnus was bull headed and voted as he wished. He was not easily persuaded. Mr. Zabini and Mr. Moody, as purebloods in our circle, you know how difficult that mentality proves to be."

"I too am pureblood, Madam," Robards said, and then clearing his throat he added, "Just not one of the Sacred."

She surmised him with polite disgust, her lips turned up in a mockingly sweet curve.

"How would you describe your marriage, Mrs. Black?" Robards asked next, and the other Aurors leaned in. It was clear they had been waiting for this question. "What did _you_ think of your husband?"

If these men thought they could outwit Druella Black, they were in for a surprise. Narcissa crossed her arms over her chest and leaned into the couch, as she had spent many times in this same spot, drawing or reading, while her father wrote at his desk or screamed at her uncle. He allowed his daughters to lull and idle in the room, but his wife had never been present for more than simple conversations; neither liked to stay in the same room with one another longer than absolutely necessary.

"I hate to shatter a glass ceiling with this great reveal, boys," Mrs. Black said softly, "but my husband I were very content in our marriage. We were not the Malfoys, but we were married for twenty-three years."

Lucius grimaced at the mention of his parents, though Narcissa thought the comparison was valid. Abraxas and Ophelia made the rest of their society's marriages look cold and lifeless. Perhaps, she thought, because they kind of were. Wives were mere business transactions of the trade.

"And you were happy with your husband?" Mr. Zabini asked, smirking, "With all of his decisions?"

"As you very well know," she quipped, "I tended the children and the household. Cygnus's business affairs were none of my business."

Narcissa looked at Lucius for a moment. She wondered about her father's reputation for the men in their society; Abraxas said he gambled, something Narcissa certainly had no knowledge of. There were not frenzied whispers or rumors about him either, something she imagined she might have heard if the opportunity was there. Then again, it was possible that few children had parents that would discuss adult gossip in front of them, and even fewer perhaps had secret passageways that allowed them to listen in as Lucius did.

Mr. Robards surveyed Narcissa and Lucius on the couch for a long moment as Zabini asked Druella follow up questions about her relationship with Cygnus. Narcissa remained impassive, straightened against the couch with her arms properly folded in her lap as she was well-trained to do. Lucius, by contrast, leaned his elbows against his thighs and stared at the table in front of them.

When the Aurors were finished with their investigation, they thanked Druella and she walked them to the door.

"Children," she announced, as she walked back into the study.

Her footsteps echoed into the room.

"It's quite late, ready for bed now," she said, "Lucius, do use the lavatory for bathing if necessary."

She watched with shock as her mother turned her back to them and walked up the stairs quietly. Lucius stood up slowly and stretched. She watched him—a frown was set in his features. Narcissa knew that he was still thinking about the letter his father sent Druella, as it appeared she made a gut wrenching decision in a matter of moments. She chose Cygnus because Abraxas left for France, presumably, but Narcissa wondered if there was more to the story. Her mother was not impulsive, and she did not make rash decisions as the letter suggested.

"Come," she murmured soothingly to him.

She stood up and trailed to the doorway and held her hand out for him to take. Slowly, he accepted her hand and she guided him up the stairs.


	24. 24

"notice the ground

beneath your feet,

holding you up

when you thought

you would sink."

Morgan Harper Nichols

WINTER

Her father's funeral brought the entire community together for what might have been a procession and then mournful ball had anyone truly missed Cygnus Black. The walls were tapered in black velvet and the guests were donned in mourning jet gowns and robes, but the champagne was swirling through the room and despite the occasion, everyone was laughing and dancing. A throne chair was erected in the far right of the room where her mother, draped in black silk and looking polished and unfettered. She drank a black inky liquid from a wine glass and spoke little except to graciously thank a guest that wandered near her.

A hushed quiet fell over the room as Ignatius Zabini swept into the grand ballroom of the Black Manor with a piece of parchment, flanked by his pureblood Aurors.

Ignatius pressed his wand to his throat to quiet the chatter. "Excuse me, we've come to read the details of Cygnus Black's will."

The room hushed. Druella Black rose from her seat at the front of the room and tilted her chin, a tiny gesture that beckoned the Aurors to the focal point of the room. They swept through in rain pelted robes that left droplets of water across the shiny dance floor.

"In the last will and last testament of Master Cygnus Black," Mr. Zabini boomed, "The Black Manor property, treasury, and estate has henceforth been transferred to Abraxas Malfoy to act as trustee until June sixteenth of this year when the property will formally transfer to Narcissa Malfoy, née Black. As written in the nuptial agreement between Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black and arranged in the will of Cygnus Black as of November twenty-third."

Perceptible tension rippled through the room. It was unorthodox for another family to claim possession of an estate, particular one as powerful as the Black family. Narcissa drained her flute of wine and dropped it back onto the table, where it sparkled clean and then filled itself. Dozens of eyes panned to her, searching for a sign of weakness no doubt, but Narcissa lifted her mouth into a frozen, polite smile and refused to meet anyone's eyes. At her side, her handsome fiancé nursed a glass of elderflower wine and looked appropriately somber for the occasion.

"That is all," he announced, and the Aurors left the room with a flourish.

"They'll come for my father next," Lucius muttered.

Narcissa picked up another glass from the table and grimaced. "Without a doubt."

She wished to peel her skin off and escape this horrid funeral, this strange festivity that her father loathed. He hated the company of the Sacred and he found it utterly useless to spend the money entertaining groups of people that connived and betrayed one another in one moment and begged to wed their children to one another next. Narcissa was halfway through the glass she'd plucked up when a roar and an explosion of sparks erupted from the center of the floor. Her Uncle Orion charged Abraxas Malfoy, screaming unintelligible curses. Abraxas was thrown across the dance floor into one of the thick walls which burst with the force and he skidded into the kitchens. House elves skittered out of the way in terror.

"THIS IS MY BIRTHRIGHT!" Orion shouted, shoving through the skittering women in long skirts as they clumsily tried to move off the dance floor. "How many galleons did you slip into my useless kin's pocket for this place, Malfoy?! Is it not enough to let your son breed our blood with yours, you have to take our history too?"

Abraxas crawled his way up the cabinet and smoothed his hair. He stepped over the broken wreckage of wall into the ballroom and glared at Orion, his wand flexed defensively at his chest.

"I paid him nothing, the house is leveraged as Narcissa's dowry—which I have kindly offered to place in her name so that it will never trade ownership outside of a Black and her offspring!" he shouted, "I was offering a kindness to lovely friends of mine, Orion."

Orion turned purple, his fists clenching in a rage. "Don't lie, Malfoy! You have been bedding my brother's wife since you were a Fourth Year! The two of you had a bastard child and decided to hide it—then to make it worse, you decided to marry off your son with your secret daughter. Blacks are dark featured—That one's no more Black than I am Mudblood."

Narcissa dropped the glass. It shattered at her feet. She opened her mouth to speak, but she wasn't given the opportunity.

"Say one more thing about Narcissa Black, and I will gauge your eyes out of your skull," Bellatrix Lestrange said loudly from the door, her wand in her hand, a dangerous edge in her voice. She stared unblinking at her uncle. She was rail thin, but her hair was wild, and it crackled with electricity. Her haunted eyes sank deep into the dark hooded eyelids and it seemed she was both a million miles away and completely centered.

Thunder rolled against the roof and shook the walls. Her husband stood looking stern behind her, his wand at his side.

"My father was murdered, and you bellow at his funeral, Uncle," she said, stepping into the ballroom with dangerous feline grace. "You disrespect his widow and his daughter; you destroy his property and harm his closest friends. You defile our name with your treachery."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes as she watched Bellatrix. Her sister's eyes darted in every direction and a look of madness touched her sharp features. It had only been six months since she had last seen her sister, but still yet she looked so different. As if darkness had etched her into a fine, razor sharp point.

"Crazy bitch—"

Her uncle's body shattered through the large paned window with an imperceptible twitch of Bellatrix's wand. His blood trailed the floor. She slinked across the room and watched him from the courtyard with all the fierceness of a lioness.

"Welcome home, Bellatrix," Druella whispered numbly, as she dropped back into her chair and averted her eyes from the window.

It was too much for Narcissa, who picked up a glass of wine and hurried from the room.

She marched down the stairs into the drawing room beneath the staircase—it was across from the entry doors to the courtyard and it was never used. In fact, the furniture was last changed by her great great grandmother and had never been altered since. Her parents preferred other rooms of the house. Narcissa sat on top of the mahogany desk and pulled her feet and skirts into the chair. She wrapped one arm around her knees and drank slowly. Her brain was a swirling mist of nerves and feeling, the liquor pressing tight in her veins. Her tongue was heavy, sweet with wine, like honey dripping from her mouth.

Though she had not asked him to, she knew he would follow her. She heard the door open and close with a soft snap and he stood in the room quietly, waiting for her to speak first. But she had nothing to say, nothing to say at all. How did she explain to anyone that her family had gone straight to hell in one afternoon? That her quiet father, who only spoke up when he gave impassioned dissertations about his daughter's accomplishments on their birthdays, who showed no affection except to allow them the freedom to wander, to sculpt, to create themselves into molds was gone. Who stood aside and let his wife choose their daughter's future husbands, and who stood by his family even when he didn't particularly love any one of them. He wasn't a good father. Often times, he made a nice piece of furniture in the backdrop of their lives.

But he was dead.

And with everything in her heart, she didn't know how to grieve him at all. She didn't feel the churning ache that she knew she should have, the creeping heartbreak that would shatter her into a thousand pieces, make her cry over dinner, draw her into herself so deep that she couldn't escape from her wild, wild depression—she felt none of this, only empty, empty, so empty, and no amount of liquor or wine would quench the feeling or make her feel whole again.

"Cissy," he finally spoke, "Tell me how to help, Love."

"How can you help?" she asked, crossing her arms, "I feel nothing at all, and it imbitters me, angers me that I am numb to my own father's death. How do you explain that? I do not cry, I do not mourn-I am anxious by my lack of sorrow. I worry that others will misconstrue my lack of grief as admittance of a crime."

Lucius crossed the distance between them and took her by the shoulders. "You were visible for the entire night of his death. No one would accuse you of murder."

"But I'm the benefactor of the will," she remarked, "It is therefore logical-"

"Women are hardly ever suspected; it is presumed they know nothing about the business process. And indeed, you had no notion," he interrupted, "Do not assign yourself more unease. You have to return to school soon; that should be your focus."

She moved back to the dusty table top and sat down upon it, her black skirts fanned out across the table. "I don't want to return to school now. It seems very much like a foolish ambition. Perhaps we should just elope."

"If you would like," Lucius replied evenly and without hesitation, but beneath his cool exterior she knew that there was perhaps real fear.

Their wedding deadline, which Narcissa managed to extend to the summer, hinged on the fact that she would be in school. In a perfect world, Lucius would have perhaps courted Narcissa for many years. She could imagine it; the holidays and travels to foreign countries which they would visit with passionate curiosity for something beyond them. The warm summer days on the beach or passing hot sweltering humidity beneath the canopy of an overlarge tree, or a picnic in the middle of a field full of wild flowers. More bookstores and markets to buy magic runes and trinkets. Quidditch games, if they liked, and museums and history. She imagined dinners and dancing, late quiet whispers in the night and stolen kisses in an alcove in Diagon Alley.

Lucius would dabble in politics, but grow bored of it, and shrink back into Herbology, perhaps build his own greenhouse in the Malfoy manor garden and remain isolated until he was in his mid-twenties, when he might reemerge into society with another career that he would, undoubtedly, grow bored with when he had not successfully conquered the hierarchal structure.

All of this growth they would do separately and together, she surmised. They might even grow apart from one another and their relationship would sizzle. Perhaps Narcissa would dream of living in Paris, but Lucius preferred Wiltshire and their love would end.

Full stop.

All at once, dreams colliding and rejecting one another. It was a natural order to youth, loving and leaving. Instead, she knew that they were together, whether they were in love or not.

"Perhaps this is only talk of things I will regret in the morning," she murmured, "The sad musings of a drunk girl at her father's funeral. Pathetic."

Lucius placed his palms against the table and leaned into her. Even in the partial moonlight shining in on him from the window, his grey eyes flashed with electricity. The static air was potent between him, their bodies dredging up the low hum of life anytime they were near.

"There is no world, in this one or the next, where you are pathetic," he told her sternly, "Furthermore. You are Narcissa Black, a drunk girl musing at her father's funeral or otherwise."

She turned her chin and sighed when he said her name. Her name. The name her uncle slandered, accused her mother of arranging an incestuous sibling relationship as an ode to the only love she ever knew. A theory that Narcissa remembered harboring, one she attempted to unfurl from her mother. It wasn't a stretch.

"If your name no longer suits you," Lucius said slyly, "Feel free to adopt mine."

"Malfoys are weak," she retorted, pushing him from the table as she stood up, "Soft-hearted romantics. Poets. I have no use for poetry, Mr. Malfoy."

"No, you wouldn't," he remarked, "because you are why we write poetry. Or draw, in my case."

He reached for her chin with his thin, pale fingers and she blushed. She, like a flower, blossomed at his touch. "Let me take you upstairs," he said, "You should rest. I will take your place for the evening."

"My mother would not allow it," she replied briskly.

"I will face her wrath," he remarked, his lips curling into a smile, "Worry not, Cissy."

He took her by the elbow and swiftly lead her from the drawing room. They walked down the hall quietly, careful not to alert the others in the ballroom. It was full of mirth as they passed, and Narcissa scanned the room from the small sliver she could see from the door—the window her uncle Orion went through was repaired, all evidence removed. She walked solidly up the stairs, leaning against Lucius for support. He was right, after all, she determined, as her body steeped in exhaustion.

When they reached her bedroom, he quickly unzipped her from her dress and undid the enchantments on her hair. She wiped her makeup from her vanity mirror, and then slipped into her pajamas. He tucked her neatly into her bed and kissed her forehead. Once. Twice. Then silently, he slipped from the door.


	25. 25

"Her heart wears wisdom skin

and wit warmed splendor,

the echoes of a war cry holding

its four chambers together.

She rises like Athena

on a night of victory dancing.

She rises like the blood moon

in a sky of a thousand stars bursting."

Nikita Gill

" _I know that this may come as a shock to you, but I shall marry her. It is decidedly so, when we visit our vacation home in Lyon this summer, I will seek her out and declare that I love her. The Malfoy family, with their cold, bitterness and loveless marriages will be a legacy I crush with my hands. I will fuel happiness for future generations; I will enforce and destroy the idea of arranged marriages. In another universe, we were lovers, you and I. Do not forget that. But in this one, we know of only pain and humbling heartache, and I despair to think of it any longer. It ends now with us. It is my greatest ambition that my children will not grow up to mourn their lost loves as I will, forever."_

Narcissa took her trembling hands from the worn fragments of parchment and lifted her gaze to the bedroom door to watch his black silk cloak disappear around the corner into the dark corridor. There were times to chase after Lucius Malfoy; this was decidedly not one of them. An anger thudded in her heart, soft at first but the rage clawed its way up her throat, and she gathered the letters.

Freezing rain pelted the windows as she turned on her heel, her robes billowing out from her thin body as she stalked the corridor in the opposite direction he had escaped. She nearly tore the fragile letters in her hands from clenching them so tightly. When she reached the end of the corridor and stood in front of her mother's bedroom chamber door, she did not hesitate as she had when she was just a child, afraid to knock out of fear. The brass handle turned and gave way under her grasp and she was in, crossing the room, her mind a feverish blur.

Druella was sitting at her vanity table in pale red silk robes, her hair loose and smooth down her back. She took out her earrings slowly, her eyes on her daughter through the mirror, watching her hard breathing and fierce concentration of rage.

"I knew you stole them," she remarked, "The day you tried your dress on."

"And you didn't confront me?" Narcissa asked, an angry thump caught in her throat. She raised her eyebrows and swept across the threshold and dropped the letters onto her mother's armoire. "You always said you wouldn't stand having a thief for a daughter."

A tiny smile appeared at the corner of her mother's lips, but she quickly busied herself with the earring in her left ear, slipping it from her ear and into the jewelry box in front of her.

"I know you and Mr. Malfoy were in love," Narcissa said accusingly, crossing her arms and stepping toward her haughtily, "I know that you were top of your class, one of the best at healing spells and you finished all seven years—you went beyond that, you were certified as a Healer. I know you had a job at Hogwarts ready and suddenly you vanished, married my father."

"How…?" Druella asked, turning in her chair to peer at her daughter incredulously. "How on earth do you know all of that?"

"The Headmaster remembers you," Narcissa replied softly.

"Ah," she murmured quietly, "Did you know that I was also a Prefect, then? So was Abraxas. _Not_ a very good one, I might add. Always skiving off of patrols; I told our head of house every time he did it, he got detention because of me more times than I can count."

"Why?" Narcissa breathed, ignoring the rest of her mother's statement, "You could have been happy. You could have had everything you wanted."

Druella frowned suddenly at her daughter's response and the small nostalgic bubble she perused popped. Had she been walking down the darkened castle corridor, stomping after a young Abraxas Malfoy as she tried to catch him misbehavior?

"You can't always help who you love, Cissy," her mother clipped, "but you decide who is allowed to be loved by you."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't understand why you threw everything away for—for Cygnus Black. He tortured your brother. Abraxas said so—"

"Abraxas stretches the truth," Druella interrupted her and then continued methodically, " _Abraxas_ is suffocating. Controlling. Intoxicating. A man that has never heard the word 'no' before—artfully selfish in his methods and his craving for the betterment of the world. An altruist, truly, blind against his ambition to make the future better, always looking onward and never minding the present. You think that I looked at Abraxas and did not notice how he craved an audience for his philosophy? We're _thousands of loves_ he would say, proclaiming this or that. But when he said he loved me, he never quite looked me in the eyes."

Narcissa was breathless. She leaned against the armoire, bumping into it noisily as her mother's words poured out of her mouth. The truth fell heavy in the room.

"I married your father as an act of defiance. It was the only way that I could tell Abraxas no. It made him very angry," her mother said, "He threatened me. He wanted to possess me. You may not believe it, Narcissa, but marrying Cygnus Black—saying _no_ to Abraxas—made me free."

"Then why," she said, her throat raw, tears in her eyes, "Did you fight so hard to manipulate Lucius? To make him fall in love with me when you _detest_ his father?"

Druella's eyes watered. She had never seen her mother cry before. But neither women let the tears roll from their eyelids.

"I loved Abraxas," Druella corrected, an angry flash in her eyes, "but he didn't deserve me. He's a martyr, Cissy, to be sure, but not much of a hero. Says he can save you but does it in a way that would suit him best. Marrying me would have suited him. Conveniently, when he no longer had the ability, he blamed me. Tainted the image of his own marriage to me, forcing me to think that he was living out his marriage in the visage he made of our own relationship and would pretend to be happy in order to carry out his duty for his children. Abraxas creates a narrative where he is self-sacrificing and hardworking."

"Then why Lucius?" she asked, shaking, "Why have us wed? I don't understand the point of it all. If Abraxas was so terrible…"

She laughed softly and Narcissa glared at her impatiently. She turned her head and watched her daughter curiously.

"I liked the idea of a real challenge," she admitted coyly, "How do I get my youngest daughter who won't wear a corset, let alone stay the entire evening on the dance floor, to marry the richest and move eligible bachelor in England?"

Narcissa narrowed her eyes shrewdly. "No. The _real_ reason you orchestrated all of this."

Druella crossed her legs and arranging her robe across her knee, letting the soft silk tumble to the floor beneath her chair. "Fine. You're old enough now, I think."

Narcissa nodded her head furtively for her mother to continue. Druella paused, for dramatics or uncertainty she wasn't sure, but when she finally spoke her voice was even.

"It was four years ago, I think. One evening, during one of the clubs I was hosting, Ophelia mentioned the anxiety she had over Lucius's incessant brooding, how lately he had been avoiding the dinner table and refusing to dance with suitors. Ditching parties and the like. Said she'd wake up in the mornings and he would just be standing under that giant, ugly tree in their garden, gnarled up thing it is. One morning it was raining, and she found him drenched, soaked to the bone, hair plastered all over his face and she thought he might kill himself—she said that, she was worried that his father's heavy burden to fall in love would drive him to the edge at fourteen."

Her mother slid open the drawer of her vanity and pulled out a silver brush. And in the corner, she produced a thin metal container. She opened it at the small clasp. Inside, there were self-rolled cigarettes. Narcissa hadn't even known she smoked, let alone that they were hidden there. Her mother placed one delicately in between her lips and lifted her wand to the tip to light it. Taking a long exhale, the smoke wafting peacefully from her mouth to the ceiling, she continued:

"Ophelia said he was too gentle for the world, like a painfully young baby bird with sinewy wings waiting to snap the first time he took a crack at flight. He was like his father, she said, sensitive and quick tempered, obsessive. But he was gentle too, like her, genuine. Soft. She said what he needed out of a wife more than anything was a steady hand to guide him. I told her there was only one girl like that in our whole society."

"Me," Narcissa commented lightly.

Druella took another drag and nodded deeply. "Yes. Good girl. She wanted Bellatrix at first, of course, she would bring a more exotic look to the light featured Malfoy line, but even then, I knew Bella's mental health was waning. The passion was draining from her and if we married her off to a family too high, they would come back at us for giving them bad breeding. But _you_ are of sound mind. I convinced Ophelia that when you came of age and were presented to society that you and Lucius would marry."

"You arranged this when I was twelve," she said, "How did you know how I would turn out? What if I went mad? What if I turned out argumentative and impossible like Andromeda?"

"Narcissa, when you were an infant you only cried when you needed something," her mother remarked, smirking, "When you were three, you politely asked for scones and when you were told no, you accepted it and waited until the next opportunity presented itself and then you asked for them again in a different way. You knew instinctively when to take action and when to wait. You were you before you could remember."

Her mother waved her wand. A tray with two glasses and a dusty bottle of whiskey appeared before them. She uncorked the bottle and poured, then she offered Narcissa a glass. She crossed the room slowly and accepted it. Her mother pointed her wand at one of the chairs in between a table, pointed toward a large window. It slid across the room and stopped in front of the vanity. Narcissa delicately took a seat. Druella handed her one of the cigarettes softly and lit it for her.

"I was out in society looking for bachelors for a year before you became interested in Lucius though," Narcissa commented, "Why did you not immediately put us together?"

"Because Lucius still had too much time. I knew if he was like his father that he might change his mind if he was given options," she replied, "You think I was Abraxas's only love? He had many, more than I cared to keep track of while we were at school. Even when he claimed he was devoted to me; he was in empty classrooms with someone else."

"Why?" she asked, quizzically, "He's so obsessed with the concept of monogamy, of loving one person in 'every age' as he says."

Narcissa eyed the soft rolled cigarette in her hand and took the tiniest drag; it was supple and earthy, the smoke in her lungs burned. She understood how this could be relaxing, the sour tobacco mixed with the perfumed wood scent. She took a sip from her glass; the pair reminded her of a forest.

"Quite frankly, he was a teenage boy, and I would never have met him in one of those darkened rooms," she said, "I was obsessed with propriety and pureness, more than any Black ever has been."

She barked a laugh that was remarkably like the one she heard other members of her family do, like Bellatrix and Sirius and her Uncle Orion. She shook her shoulders softly and smiled, her face lit up with a serene kind of happiness.

"Tojours pur," her mother said in a sing-song voice.

"So, Abraxas Malfoy is actually a _massive_ asshole," Narcissa surmised, biting her lip.

"Yes, but his wife reigns him in very nicely, something I was never willing to do," Druella said, "I never wanted to get my hands dirty, didn't want to smooth over his imperfections or make him a better man. What I wanted was low maintenance, a man that already whole. Ophelia loves projects."

"My father—was he whole?" she asked quietly.

A shadow of sadness crossed her mother's features. "Your father was stalwart, and he was always there for me. I confess it was not a passionate love affair cast into the stars. It was secret, something that got to be just ours, that Abraxas couldn't take or comprehend. Years of long talks and scheming walks through the garden and quiet moments all to ourselves where we weren't parents or husband and wife, but just what we were when we were together. I loved him. I didn't always feel it strongly, but I went to him when I wanted to be myself."

She softened. She did not know this version of her parents, who seemed at odds and separate from one another. Narcissa thought they loathed one another. They seemed instead like quiet companions, both very fond of their time spent alone and their time with one another.

"He knew everything," Druella said, "The arrangement with Ophelia. He knew all about Abraxas. He distrusted him and he was not keen on the idea of placing you with Lucius. He disagreed with the arrangement until the very end."

"Did Abraxas actually secure the estate away from Uncle Orion or did father…?" she asked softly.

Druella shrugged. "Your father made the hard choice and sacrificed his legacy for something more important. But I have no doubt Abraxas helped him come to those terms, surprisingly, with the same common goal. The only thing they might have had in common."

Something else bothered her, though. She thought it might upset her mother if she asked but she couldn't stop herself, she ashed the cigarette on the floating tray and took a deep breath. "Do you know who killed him, then?" she asked in a rush.

Her mother was quiet, her eyes averted to the soft threaded carpet. She took a drink from the glass and placed it onto the tray.

"Bella," she said at last.

" _What_?" Narcissa exclaimed, "How do you know?"

"Because she wrote to him repeatedly, sent him an owl the night he died and told him to remain behind," her mother said, "I knew something strange was going on. None of you spoke to him much and you never wrote."

"You won't tell anyone though," she guessed, "to protect her?"

"To protect us all," her mother replied sharply.

A twinge of horror went through her. Did her mother know about Lord Voldemort? Her mother was calculating and intelligent to be sure, but did she also somehow know about the secret wedding in the cave? The Dark Lord's first devotee, her sister, and Narcissa bared witness to it and took an Unbreakable Vow to never share their secret. A secret she could not, without dying, reveal to her mother now.

Druella drained her glass and stood up. She walked into her closet and reemerged a few moments later with a thick winter coat buttoned over her robe and boots in her hands.

"You had better dress quickly," she said, "If I guess correctly, you didn't have the good enough sense to read those letters alone, did you?"

Narcissa blushed pink and shook her head slowly. It seemed reasonable for she and Lucius to unravel the past together. She had not thought to keep that secret from him.

"Figured," she replied, "Then hurry, we might catch Lucius before he murders his father."

Her mother had not said it sarcastically, but with a noted seriousness to her tone that made Narcissa leap from the chair and sprint to her bedroom to change. She slipped the thick coat the Malfoy's had gifted her last year with the fox trim hood over her shoulders and buttoned it up as quickly as she could. She pulled socks on and tugged her boots onto her feet and ran into the hallway where her mother was waiting.

They Apparated to the Malfoy property line. Narcissa unwrenched her arm from her mother's as soon as they were on proper footing and she walked to the iron gate. The metal was cold and covered in ice. Snow powdered the ground evenly and it was completely silent in the Wiltshire countryside. The mansion loomed above them in the dark sky and as she touched the gate, a light went on in the second floor.

"That would be the bell to alert them we are here," Druella said softly.

After a few minutes, she felt the gate creek and break the ice wrapped around the hinges. They swung open slowly. Impatient, Narcissa slipped through the first open space she could fit through and her mother followed suit. They walked up the winding driveway quickly. If her mother had not been present, she would have sprinted up the drive from nerves alone, but she knew that even Druella Black would tell her to walk like a lady when they were trying to stop someone from being killed.

The massive double doors opened as they neared the door. Abraxas Malfoy, wrapped in a thick bathroom robe and his hair wildly askew, glared at them sleepily from the doorway.

"It's the middle of the night, Drue," he said, his voice warbling, the sound of exhaustion thick.

She sighed heavily and swept past him into the foyer, ignoring his complaints. Narcissa slipped through, wincing from embarrassment and trying not to apologize. Abraxas took in their appearance, the haphazard coats pulled over their nighttime attire and their oddly placed boots. His eyes widened with worry.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"I'm afraid," Druella began, but then she stopped.

She stared at the staircase and her eyes traveled upstairs.

"Is Ophelia awake?" she whispered.

"Merlin's sake, Drue, just what happened?" he hissed.

But she was still nervously sweeping her eyes along the stairs, as if Ophelia Malfoy would suddenly appear. Abraxas sighed heavily and gestured for them to follow him. They walked up the stairs silently, tip toeing in case of noise. The manor at night was cold and quiet except for the occasional creaking.

He brought them to his study and quickly let them inside. As they walked in, the fireplace burst to life and merrily crackled as if it had been burning for ages. Warmth seeped across the room. He didn't bother with any lamps and instead brought them over to the chairs surrounding the hearth. Narcissa glanced up at the portrait above the mantle of a long ocean and a ship; it was the perfect vantage point for the hidden passageway lookout that she and Lucius used to listen in on last year.

"Go on then," Abraxas said, slouching into his high backed leather chair and rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"I'm afraid our children stole something that belonged to me," her mother said.

"And?" he asked, dropping his hand onto the arm rest, "What do you want, dear? Reimbursement? Did Lucius trip down some stairs and crash into a Black family heirloom? Maybe a vase full of Cygnus's mum's knickers…"

"Letters," Druella replied tactfully, her expression tight and serious, "Letters from our years in Hogwarts and thereafter, Abraxas. Letters that incriminate your marriage and your good reputation."

He narrowed his eyes shrewdly, and then crossed one leg over his knee. "Very well. You didn't think to destroy them after all this time?"

"No, Abraxas, sometimes when you beguile me into believing something different, I like to look back on our past to remind me whom I'm dealing with," Druella retorted, a frozen smile crossing her features.

"I wasn't aware you still held a torch for me," Abraxas replied deftly, his eyes suddenly calculating, "Over eighteen years, Druella, and you still can't let go. Can't say I'm surprised, husband like yours…"

Narcissa rolled her eyes and stood up from her seat. "While the two of you both flirt and insult each other, I am going to find Lucius, since no doubt he's undone about the fact that his parents' marriage is a lie. I'm sure he's quite angry too, about how you burdened him with the duty of finding his soulmate and to uphold a reputation of strong bonds when you yourself lied about loving your wife, Mr. Malfoy. Excuse me."

She floated across the study and wrenched open the door. Before she left, she heard Abraxas mutter bitterly:

"Well she certainly got that bit from _you_ , Druella…"

In the cold empty corridor however, it was difficult for Narcissa to know where he would be. Certainly, he went home after he left her bedroom, enraged and She had not considered he might not want to be near his parents at all. Was he nursing a drink at the Leaky Cauldron where she could not find him? He was an adult after all, nothing would have stopped him from going anywhere in the world…

His bedroom was empty and appeared undisturbed. He spent the week with her and there were no obvious disturbances to his room. She opened the balcony doors and walked out into night. The garden lights were out, but she could still see the shadow of the ancient tree illuminated against the darkness. The branches were covered in a soft powder of snow and when the wind picked up the branches creaked menacingly.

Sighing heavily, she left his bedroom and padded down the corridor. The door to the study was cracked, and light from the fireplace poured into the hall. She stopped in front of the door, her eyes sweeping back across the dark parts of the room to ensure he wasn't in the room.

She turned back to the hearth and stared. Druella stood up, her back tensed with anger, arms folded across her chest. And with a brazen look upon his face, Abraxas stood up and he kissed her, his hands cupping her face. Narcissa's eyes, wide as saucers, watched her mother wrench away from him and slap him so hard in the face that the sound reverberated across the room. A reddened handprint was visible on his face even from Narcissa's view from the slant of the door.

Narcissa jolted down the stairs. She was uncertain of where the secret passage was, but she remembered where it had ended. They had come out by the entrance hall closet. She found the space in the wall, the stone had tiny, almost imperceptible spaces in between the next stone, and she could feel a cold breeze. She touched the stone felt around until she pulled a candle sconce on the wall. The stone slowly opened, and she slipped through the door.

The stairs were narrow and more difficult to walk up than they were coming down. She was sweating and panting in her winter coat, so she pulled it off and carried it the rest of the way. The passage way curved into a small landing and as she came up the stairs, she saw Lucius sitting in a chair that appeared to have come from their dining room. Bast was curled on the floor by his feet, and he was reading as he listened to the conversation from the study. He had placed a charm on the portrait to project the sound to be much louder than she knew their parents were speaking, as their voices filtered through the tiny alcove as if they were mere feet from them.

"Lucius," she whispered, panting through an angry stitch in her side.

He pressed his fingers to his lips and flipped the page of his book. She watched his hands, which were usually more telling than his expressions, but found his grasp quite even and still. She crept closer and sat on the floor to listen. She gathered Bast into her arms and held him to her chest, comforted by his immediate pur.

"…I have always loved Ophelia, that's not a question," Abraxas said.

"You don't betray people you love, as I have told you before," her mother said.

"I haven't betrayed her at all, I simply love you both," he said, exasperated, "I have always loved you. Coveted you. Adored you. You were my first love, Drue, and you married Cygnus and it felt like I was dying. Ophelia and I were destined to be together; I believe this now. I was misguided. But you are my constant, my confident and friend. I have misplaced this for love more than once in our lifetime. I'm sorry I kissed you, it was disrespectful."

"I won't stand behind you like this," Druella snapped, "I won't be your mistress. I will not stand for impropriety. Touch me again and I'll hex whatever part of you is nearest. I'm a _widow_ , Abraxas! My husband was just buried."

"Your husband was Cygnus Black," Mr. Malfoy said, scoffing.

"It doesn't matter if my husband is Cygnus Black or _you_ , Abraxas, there is a proper grieving period," her mother snapped, "You would understand that if you weren't such—"

Lucius waved his wand and their voices drifted to scratching whispers behind the wall.

"There's two decades of squabbles in them and I don't think we will get any nearer to the truth than his final letter," he announced tacitly.

He shut the book and Narcissa eyed the cover. It was a log book with the Malfoy seal across the front, clearly, she thought, stolen from his father's study. Lucius stood up and the chair underneath him disappeared. She followed him as we walked up the staircase to the higher levels of passageways.

"For centuries my family have married in front of that authoritative tree and carved their names into the stones," Lucius announced.

The cat snoozing against Narcissa's chest lifted his lamp like eyes for a moment and then stretched one paw out and nestled against her arms again.

"It's the Malfoy way," he continued, turning sharply left.

The passage was an even flooring now, adjunct to the stairs. This must have been how the house elves navigated the mansion, she realized. Unseen and out of the way. This must have also been how Lucius disappeared during dinner parties too. The passages seemed to be connected, but their hiding places were still a mystery to her except for one. After a long walk, they seemed to be on the other side of the house. Lucius took the stairs and walked down them. He tapped his wand against a piece of stone wall, marked by the familiar rune she had seen last year at the exit of the door in the foyer.

The wall curved out and when they stepped through, they were in the dining room next to the head of the table. Lucius swiftly walked from the dining room to the ballroom. She knew then where he was headed, and she had half an idea of what he was about to do. She placed Bast gently onto the floor and kissed his head.

"Go on then, it's much too cold for you outside," she murmured, and then she ran to catch up with her fiancé.

She met up with him on the veranda, the wide sprawling wooden porch which in the summer was bursting with potted flowers. It was cold and bare, none of Ophelia's lounging chairs or tables were here. The garden itself was asleep, deep in hibernation and covered in a thick swath of snow.

Narcissa pulled her coat over her shoulders and twisted her arms through and buttoned it. Lucius hardly seemed to notice the cold.

"So, you're going to destroy it, I get that part," Narcissa said as she followed him through the maze of hedges, "Will it really help? I mean, the tree is a symbol, but it doesn't provide an actual solution. Our parents were still in love and they married other people to spite each other. And somewhere they did fall in love with their spouses, but it's true. It came from a place of hatred and regret, like all arranged marriages…"

They wound their way through the last bit of hedge and the tree came forward in full view, breathtaking and overlarge. She would be sad to see it destroyed, she realized. After all, she had grown up with it, practically memorized each gnarl and limb swaying in the breeze. In winter it slept, but she knew in spring the massive tree would come back to them and burst electric blossoms. And the petals would cover the garden, blow through the wind and perfume the outside air with its striking beauty. To see it in flames, she realized, would sadden her a great deal.

Lucius placed the book at the base of the tree and the wind flipped the pages wildly until he waved his wand and it settled on the last page. The aging signatures of his parents were written there in soft ink in the pages, and the Malfoys before them had each written their names and the dates in which they were married. To burn the book too, Narcissa realized, would mean that the proof of his legacy would also be destroyed. She sighed heavily, feeling the weight of what they were about to do.

"I thought that running would make me happy," he said, turning toward her, "That if I held out long enough and avoided my destiny that I would be happy in the interim and I could piece out meaning and myself in the spaces between childhood and marriage. The idea that I had to find my soulmate in a short few years and _know_ that she was the one by the time I was seventeen was both staggering and impossible. I anguished for years over it, long before I should have. I believed myself to be cursed."

"I know," Narcissa breathed softly, a horrid longing filling her chest.

She knew the dread of the future well. She had been running from it for as long as she could remember too.

"And then to discover that my own father lied," Lucius said, anguish crossing his features, "I suffered so much under this philosophy, that love and only love could save me. I was supposed to find true love when my father probably picked my mother from a bloody list at random, perhaps intrigued by her intelligence and finesse with languages, but mostly because she wasn't your mother."

She winced, as if it was somehow her fault that Abraxas loved Druella Black. "She was right for him in the end, Lucius, you have to know that. My mother said—"

"I don't believe either one of them," he interjected calmly, "There are two versions of the story and frankly, I think both of them are irrelevant. My life was steeped in their history, hidden in the shadows. Yours was as well. Do you not feel their anger? Their despair? Their lost love has us here, at least. They orchestrated our marriage to rekindle something they could never have."

"But they didn't," Narcissa said quickly, feeling tears well into her eyes. He was in pain, he was suffering, but she could do nothing to soothe him. "Your mother and mine planned the whole thing with mine four years ago. I had no idea until tonight. It wasn't your _father_ at all; it was your mother. She wanted you to be happy. She wanted you to be with me."

The tree creaked above them and then they heard a snap. Narcissa turned around. Ophelia Malfoy crossed the distance between them.

"That's right," she said, looking cheerful in royal blue silk robes and a winter coat.

She paused and looked at the record log on the ground, then her eyes trailed up to the tree. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at the tree. Narcissa felt a chasm of fear in her body, her heart thudding, but instead small orange lamps appeared above the tree, lighting the garden in a soft, almost summer hue.

Lucius stared at his mother for a long moment before he nodded.

"Then I won't do this out of anger," he murmured, and turned toward her and held out his hand.

She took it willingly, trusting, without thinking. She thought she might distract him from his sorrow and perhaps from his destructive desire to burn his legacy to the ground.

"When I left, I thought about many things," he said, "About hurting my father, about razing my home and this tree. I thought if my father could see my rage manifested that he would understand, and then I listened to the way he spoke with your mother and I knew that no matter what you might say to him, he doesn't actually hear you. He only understands what he wants to."

"I don't understand," she said, shivering from the harsh winter air, "Why are we here then?"

"To childishly act out in defiance of my father's stupid legacy," Lucius replied.

Ophelia took her by the shoulders and repositioned Narcissa to the side to face Lucius before the tree, and Lucius grasped her hands. She was suddenly and painfully aware that she stopped breathing from shock.

He wasn't going to destroy the tree at all.

"We come together tonight to witness the marriage of Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy," Ophelia said, smiling excitedly as she pulled her wand from her cloak.

"Lucius," Narcissa muttered, warningly.

He smiled at her sheepishly in response.

"Both of you must pledge to honor, trust, and love one another," Ophelia said, her soft, flowery lilt warming the cold winter air around them, "Do you vow to always be faithful and honest, devoted and true to one another both in sickness and health, over the many roads of life, until death?"

"I do," Lucius said.

"I do," Narcissa said, her voice shaking.

Thin silk ribbons wound over their hands and Ophelia waved her wand. She watched them braid rapidly and flow across her hands in the soft glow of the light from the trees. She was frozen to her core and snow picked up and swirled around them.

"I pronounce you husband and wife," Mrs. Malfoy said, tapping her wand again.

The ribbons fell from her hand and turned to tiny snowflakes, which Narcissa watched catch in the wind and flutter through the limbs of trees. She watched Ophelia turn and point her wand to the book. Their names glowed against the pages and scribbled across the columns.

And there her name was written, Narcissa Black, in the soft curling handwriting of Ophelia Malfoy. The edges of dawn drifted against the tree lines and Narcissa could scarcely breathe. Lucius reached for her at once and kissed her then, beneath the flickering shadow of the ancient tree. When they parted, she realized tears were welling up in his eyes, and she watched them spill down his cheeks as he looked at her. She stared, suspended in time, more in love with him than she even understood.


	26. 26

"Whatever our souls

are made of,

his and mine are the same."

Emily Bronte

Forbidden was a word she heard often in life. It was forbidden for an unmarried woman to walk the streets of Diagon Alley without an accompanying family male chaperone, a rule often stretched and forgotten in modern times. It was forbidden to leave one's bedroom without a corset and proper dressing gown or attend dinner with a father without fastidious grooming, as if the man had never seen his own daughter flailing and squalling as a tiny infant, running naked through the corridors as a toddler. Or perhaps, that father never had, locked in his study as they tended to do. And so, one day their wild infant turned into a well-mannered and quiet tempered daughter who wore white gloves when sipping wine from a goblet and left her wand in her bedside drawer when she went to balls. The magic required of women was illusions of grandeur, not practical or necessary outside of her physical appearance. The whimsical nature of womanhood was actually a strategic war of tactical manipulation against men to see how far they could climb, how many vacation homes and properties they might secede to their children.

But there were also other kinds of forbidden. Darkness that Narcissa was not aware. Murder. Betrayal.

Incest.

Both the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch's Weekly_ had her own image plastered across the front page with the words: "Incestuous Siblings, Black Family Nightmare" and "Secrets of the Most Ancient and Noble House - Revealed". And in the corner of each of the pages was her sister Bellatrix, spindly and bruised. Her teeth gnashing and biting at the reader. But more importantly than her sister's photograph was the tiny blurb at the very bottom:

"'It is utterly ridiculous to even think such an insidious thing,'" said a man everyone is calling the Lord Voldemort, whose political philosophies are sweeping the Pureblood society with extreme popularity. 'The Black family has always been a victim of the chaos and disorder this society routinely brings them.' For more information on the Dark Lord, see page thirty-five."

Curiously, when turning to page thirty-five there were no lingering bits of gossip swirling around the Black family and no additional attempts from the Dark Lord to protect their good name, but instead exhaustingly whimsical prose discussing the fancies of a purified society. The Dark Lord brought an iconic vision of Utopia where goblins and giants and halfbreeds knew their place. Where Muggleborns and halfbloods were neatly removed so that only the worthy held the title of witch and wizard. It was, Narcissa thought, properly ghastly and written persuasively enough that her entire society would soon be enraptured.

So, it was. As she passed through the halls of Hogwarts the symbol of the skull and serpent were rampant, doodled onto notebooks and written on the backs of hands. It was reported that proper members were tattooed with the symbol and the Dark Lord could call them through it for meetings-composed of primarily pureblood young men with eager arguments of philosophy stuck in their throats, each eager to quench the bloodied stump of life they wished to carve out.

"It will never work," Narcissa said, folding the newspaper and placing it onto the table.

Andromeda peered at her over her heaping plate of toast. She grew wearier by the day, deep circles under her eyes from intense nights studying. "This purity thing?" she asked, "Of course not. It's just like that one Wizard-the one that went dark that Dumbledore got rid of. He'll just have to have another duel, I guess...frankly he might be a bit old for it."

"He's been a busy man," Narcissa replied, pursing her lips, "This is a long game. He's been gate crashing our parties for a bit. The first time I remember seeing him was at Bellatrix's wedding, but I imagine he's been around longer than that."

"That's how it begins," Andy replied, "Lobbyists."

Narcissa sipped her morning tea and placed an overlarge leather volume full of mundane herbalist plants in front of her and began scouring the list for the potion ingredients she would need this afternoon. Andromeda chomped through her pile of toast and greedily read through her notes, as if reading fast enough or long enough would imprint them into her brain entirely.

"How's married life?" Andy asked, sneering, but she was polite enough to whisper.

"Please," Narcissa responded, rolling her eyes, "Mother is so angry with me she won't speak. I asked her to send one of my books I left behind, and she's gone quiet. I had to order another one."

"At least you returned to school," her sister murmured.

"That was always the plan," Narcissa sighed airily, "Father was just murdered and then Lucius exacted revenge against his father by marrying me too early and his mother, probably heartbroken and angered, officiated it."

"That's...one way to put it, I suppose," she remarked.

Narcissa peered up at her from her book. "How would you describe it then?"

"I mean it was all just very nicely placed together, wasn't it? You leave for the Masquerade; father turns up dead in his carriage. Then the midnight rescue mission of the Malfoys occurs and you're in a garden at the right place, right time for Ophelia Malfoy to marry her son off before he's socially scorned," she replied.

"Are you suggesting Ophelia Malfoy committed murder just to marry her son off in nine months early?" Narcissa asked, lowering her voice to a hiss.

"Well she is a little mad, everyone knows that," Andromeda remarked.

"She's a heartbroken woman married to a man that loves our mother and her only goal in life was to make sure her son was happy," Narcissa argued.

"Happy with the daughter of her husband's mistress," she shot back, closing her book with a snap. "Sounds like revenge to me, giving her son what his father could never have."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "They weren't together after Mum married our father. You know how she is about breaking rules. She rarely even wears her hair down outside of her bedroom chamber."

"She took her hair down for _that_ to be sure," Andy retorted.

Narcissa glared witheringly at her and then tucked her book back into her bag. She was dreadfully behind on courses and had only just begun catching up. It was a Saturday, and despite the freedom from classes, most of the Slytherins in her year were pouring over books while eating breakfast. They would soon return the common room or the library and remain that way until lunch and dinner.

After breakfast, Narcissa and Andromeda found a private table in the library and sat across from one another studying. Narcissa was content to read in peace but for the scribbling of quill against parchment, but it seemed her older sister was feeling chatty.

"Bellatrix put Uncle Orion through a window?" she whispered, after thirty or so minutes had passed between them.

"Oh yes, for besmirching my name," she replied, sighing.

She lost count how many times she had gone over the details of her father's funeral.

"Bellatrix never was really all that loyal, you know?" Andy stated, "Always alone, lying in the hallway on that cot for days on end like she was dying of Dragon Pox."

Narcissa looked up. "Are you jealous that she defended me or merely curious that she summoned the energy to care at all?"

"Mixed jury, I suppose. On the one hand, I will hex your hair off if you ever call her your favorite sister, but I do certainly question why she would bother."

"Bella loves fighting, you and I both know that," Narcissa remarked, "And we grew up listening to Uncle Orion blathering. I think even I would relish the opportunity to fire off a few spells to shut him up."

Andromeda bit her lip in thought and shrugged. "True, but if she's hanging around this—Dark Lord—perhaps she orchestrated it for publicity."

"Well, she did murder our father," Narcissa remarked lightly.

Her sister opened her mouth to reply, but the realization of what she said sank in and she was quiet.

"You should know that theory came from Mum," she added.

Andromeda rolled her eyes deeply and sighed, fluffing up the pages of her book. "Then it's certainly just that-theory."

But Narcissa was not so sure now, as she had placated the theory and let it sit and stew in her brain. The reason did not figure in until Andromeda rather accidentally suggested that Bellatrix defended her at her father's funeral for publicity for the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. But it went further than that, of course, she thought. Murdering her father would weaken the community, tear down important and old contacts. The Black family would stumble in darkness with no one to help them. Leave a gaping hole in the Wizengamot. Alienate a family so that they turned to...whom? The obvious answer was the Death Eaters, but there were no sons for the Dark Lord's plight and pilgrimage, no one to join his club.

It was a mystery she almost had solved but could not place the final puzzle pieces together. It was loathsome if she thought about it too long, so she didn't, and instead went back to studying Potions and let the hours collect.

In the few moments of time they had before her mother and Abraxas found them in the garden, Lucius and Narcissa had stared at one another in shock. The revelation of what they had done had not yet crossed them, the final defiant act and only power they had against their parents. That power was provocative and alluring, but short lived as she watched the pain cross her mother's face. She stared transfixed as her expressions changed from confusion to understanding, extreme sadness and flickers of anger. And finally, her lips set in a firm, sad line and her eyes went dark.

"I didn't get to see you get married," she murmured.

It was one of the last things she said to her before she returned to school, and when she thought that moment, the pain in her mother's voice twisted a knife into her heart that she could not release. In all of the past year of scheming, she had not once wished to implicate her mother or exclude her. She had not been Druella Black, the wife of Cygnus Black, nor the first love of Abraxas Malfoy. Not a healer or a prefect, but a mother in that moment, broken by the decisions of her daughter. She would only ever see her one of her three daughters marry.

Narcissa blinked back her remorse. The massive ceremony in June would of course carry on; their true marriage was secret, and her mother declared she found it null without the witnesses of their society, but the sticking charm on the signatures wouldn't erase their names no matter how hard Abraxas tried. In retrospect, she assumed Abraxas would have known that, but his blind rage had led him to shake his wand at the pages in the cold for over an hour before Ophelia demanded he come inside.

The war that erupted between the Malfoys was impulsive and accusatory. The charged anxiousness of the night shattered to rage. Abraxas, stiff from the cold and his teeth chattering, was so angry that he broke priceless vases and portraits, toppled furniture and roared out in anger. Lucius was stoic and solid, an impervious marble that emotion could not penetrate—but Narcissa saw his fingers twitching, aggressive as a cat caught in a corner by a hound.

"You didn't even want to get married and now you've gone and done it _too bloody soon_?" Abraxas bellowed at his son, "You couldn't have _waited_ —now what are we going to tell people? You know what—we won't have to—they'll give you a perfect spun narrative that you've gone and knocked her up or you forced her!"

"When she doesn't give birth, I should think that at least one of those rumors will sort itself out," Lucius replied, his jaw clenched and flexing.

Narcissa sank onto the couch and folded her arms over her face. Her mother stared daggers at Lucius from across the room, her arms crossed. Only Ophelia seemed content, as she poured tea into a small saucer and sighed, pressing her fingers around the cup to warm them.

"The Malfoy reputation lies on a tenuous razor blade that alternates between love and hate within this community and if you don't think they wait in the shadows for you to fail, you're one brain cell away from being a glorified _tea pot_ —"

A crack erupted from the end of Abraxas's wand into the floor, leaving a black scorch mark against the stone and a charred hole through the pocket of his robes. A pregnant silence encompassed them for several minutes before Mr. Malfoy spoke with an even, quiet tone to his son.

"Leave," Abraxas said, "I don't care where you stay, but it can't be here."

"Abraxas," Ophelia murmured, standing up suddenly from the seat.

Druella walked across the room to the door with a haughty smirk. "Come, Narcissa. Lucius isn't welcome at our home either."

"Are you kidding me?" Narcissa retorted, "It's not even _our_ house, it belongs to Mr. Malfoy—"

"Then he _really_ isn't welcome there," Abraxas interrupted.

"You would abandon your own son?" Narcissa challenged, bristling with sparks of rage.

Lucius placed his hand over his mother's shoulder briefly and then nodded curtly to his wife. "It is quite all right, Narcissa."

"To hell with that," she retorted, rolling up the sleeves of her robes and Lucius stared in shock as he thought she actually might wind up to punch his father in the face. "You're coming home with me. We're _married_."

"Idiot child!" Druella snapped, "Come with me now or you won't have a home to go to back to either!"

"Go," Lucius ordered, his voice cool edged steel as he turned to her. "Collect your things and return to Hogwarts."

She had never heard him command her before and she thought to argue with him, but her mother took her by the wrist and pulled her from the room. She dragged her across the foyer and out of the main doors. Druella was silent the entire walk down the drive and for the first time she had abandoned her resolve to walk as a lady would, and she tore down the slope to the main gates. They melted back into the night as they arrived and as they crossed the property line, she was swirling through the air, pressure shoving into her ribs and stomach until she thought she might vomit.

The night was clear and cold at the Black manor. She walked up the driveway to her home and her mother flung the door open with her wand and walked straight up the stairs. They went to Narcissa's bedroom and when she opened the door, she waved her wand. Narcissa's belongings sored across the room into her open trunks and neatly arranged themselves.

"Mother—Mother are you going to talk to me about this?" Narcissa asked, folding her arms.

Her mother's chest heaved, and a distraught sob issued from her mouth before she repressed the emotion.

"I don't think I want to talk to you ever again," she said.

Narcissa's things began slamming angrily into her trunks. Her mother caught it and waved her wand until her trunks were arranged neatly, and then she levitated them in the air.

"Let's go, you're taking a train tonight," she announced.

She was at Hogwarts by the morning, holding her trunks at the front door in the snow covered grounds, hovering anxiously on the doorstep and hoping she wouldn't receive detention for not being dressed in her robes. She didn't. The next morning, she dressed for classes and returned as though nothing had happened. Her studies wound up and Andromeda welcomed her back after she told her everything that had happened. It was, to say the least, tumultuous and exhausting.

Narcissa rubbed her eyes and closed her book. The light was dimming from the library windows. When she glanced over, Andromeda was asleep with her head in an Ancient Runes book. She woke her sister and together they gathered their things and went to the common room for some much needed rest.

As they wound around the corner of the aisle, Narcissa stopped and held her arm out to keep her sister from turning around her. Instead, she stepped onto the back of her foot painfully and shoved a book into the middle of Narcissa's back, who inhaled and bit her lip to keep from making noise.

Black hooded figures stood in a circle around the restricted section of the library, a single blue ball of flame hovering in between them. They were broad shouldered and tall—clearly all boys, and not yet large enough in frame to be adults. They watched slowly as the group began to chant in a strange, hissing sound, an ancient language.

"Nope," Andromeda muttered, shoving her sister forward.

She took her by the arm, and they skittered around the back of an aisle and detoured their way to the front of the library.

"Not meddling with that," her sister continued, "Not today!"

"Were those…?" she asked.

"Sheep trying to follow a trend? Yes," Andy replied briskly, as they set off for the stairs to the dungeons. "No doubt, some Slytherins heard about what their older siblings are up to and decided to replicate the ritual…"

"Andy," Narcissa said, "Bellatrix conjured those flames in the corridors last year. I don't think they were messing around."

Andromeda murmured the password and they slipped through the door into the common room quietly.

"Whatever is happening," Andromeda said, "I don't want to be a part of it."

Narcissa took the stairs after her sister. She had a feeling they were all going to be intertwined with whatever was happening.


End file.
